


The Drawn Bead

by not_poignant



Series: The Fae Tales Verse [6]
Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Child Abuse, Consent Issues, D/s, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secrets, Seelie Court, Seelie fae, Torture, Uninformed Consent, Unreliable Narrator, sexual awakening, systemic and long-term child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/pseuds/not_poignant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tie in with Game Theory, and will really only make sense if you're up to date with that.</p><p>Deliberately isolated from others by his family, Gwyn has never had the chance to make friends, or bond with people, until Mafydd comes to visit the family estate. His awakening into what it is to have a friend, and even a lover, happens quickly - but it's dangerous, Mafydd is a Reader (empath) and Gwyn has a terrible secret that he cannot share. And with Efnisien lurking nearby, Lludd disapproving and Mafydd and Gwyn having to hide their relationship, they are in more danger than they can possibly know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bold

**Author's Note:**

> An unfinished work, though I will be posting the 3.5 chapters of it that I've written. This is more of a mini-story designed to flesh out Gwyn's back story, for those who want to know more about it. I initially wrote this for myself, so I had a very clear picture of what Gwyn's childhood was like, so the writing style is a bit different than usual, and the narrative is very much a 'Gwyn narrative' (i.e. quite rough and straightforward). 
> 
> Though I warn for Major Character Death (Mafydd's death), this never happens 'on screen,' since it's meant to occur in chapter 5, which I don't plan on finishing. Some things are too sad for me to write, and you can always check later Game Theory chapters to see how Gwyn reacted to that. :/ For those who want to know exactly *how* it happened, feel free to Tumblr message me, or leave a message in the comments in the last chapter (chapter 4). 
> 
> Gwyn is 16 in this (but his mental age is closer to 13), and Mafydd is about the fae equivalent of 18/19. Hence the underage warning. **Please read the tags.** This had originally been marked as enthusiastic consent, but due to the age discrepancy, this has been upgraded to consent issues and uninformed consent. While I still believe Gwyn would have consented regardless of his age, Mafydd is quite coercive, despite constantly checking in on Gwyn's wellbeing, and checking if they need to stop regularly.
> 
> *
> 
> Feedback would be very, *very* welcome for a little side story like this, no matter what it is! Thanking you in advance!

Gwyn released his arrow, using the new hold that his tutor had taught him, and watched the pear he’d aimed at split into three different pieces, pale creamy juice spraying up into the air. He lowered his recurve bow and looked around, before clenching his hand into a triumphant fist. His father didn’t like it when he got too excited after getting something right during training, but Gwyn couldn’t help it. The new grip was working. He was far more accurate now. That was his first shot, and he’d gotten it straight away.

He practiced until the sun was setting, then retrieved and cleaned his arrows of pear juice in the river by his father’s estate. Weekends were his to do what he wanted with, provided he studied and trained, and that never bothered him too much. Training on his own, choosing what he read, it was an uncommon freedom.

Now that the weekend was ending, he found himself wishing for the next one already.

He saw the horse-drawn carriage up by the property and swore. He’d forgotten they were having guests for dinner, that they would be staying for the week. He bolted up through the servant’s entrance and down towards the cleaner’s station. He didn’t have time to ask someone to draw him a bath, and he didn’t like to bother the servants overmuch anyway. He ended up scrubbing himself down with a bucket of pre-soaped washing water, ignoring the exclamation of dismay when one of the cleaners spotted him. It was more important that he be clean and presentable, than they follow their protocol.

He sprinted up to his rooms, taking the stone steps two at a time and nearly stumbling on the last one. He threw his door open and then froze.

A boy – another teenager, his age maybe – was standing, looking at Gwyn’s longbow. He had short, dark hair, and when he looked up, Gwyn saw that his eyes were an uncommon brown; paler than usual, like weak tea.

‘Hallo, I’m Mafydd. My parents are over for dinner tonight. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, can you?’

‘Why are you in here?’ Gwyn said, looking around nervously. There wasn’t anything to be nervous about, everything was in its proper place, and besides, he had nothing material that could reveal his secrets. But...no one ever came in his rooms without his permission, except his father.

‘That’s not very polite,’ Mafydd said, ‘You’re meant to say, ‘hallo, I’m Gwyn ap Nudd, pleased to make your acquaintance.’ You’re highborn, you know that.’

'You’re not supposed to be in here,’ Gwyn said, placing his recurve bow on the bed, along with the quiver of arrows.

‘Oh, I know, but then I’m not quite as highborn as you. I can break more rules.’ His voice had a cheerful lilt to it, and Gwyn found himself smiling despite himself. Mafydd’s eyes gleamed when he did that, as though he’d been angling for that response the entire time.

‘Family dinners, eh? I hate them,’ Mafydd said, ‘My parents will chat with your parents about something and then we’ll have to be quiet, except of course, when they either talk about our achievements, or mock us for our disappointments.’

Gwyn laughed under his breath. That sounded exactly the way family dinners went when guests were over.

‘You should sit next to me,’ Mafydd continued, ‘Keep me company. You’re young like I am. There aren’t many of us, you know.’

Gwyn did know. He and Efnisien were of an age, and so everyone thought they should spend time together. But Efnisien was cruel, and if he wasn’t directing that at Gwyn, or at animals, he was sleeping. Gwyn’s method of dealing with Efnisien was to lose him in a forest, and make sure that he put down any animal that Efnisien tormented as quickly as possible. He didn’t want Efnisien to find out he was doing that, but he couldn’t leave the animals to die slowly, either.

‘You’re kind of cute, actually,’ Mafydd said, and Gwyn stared at him. ‘Oh, come on, like you haven’t heard it before!’

Mafydd laughed, and Gwyn flushed hot. He didn’t have friends and his father kept him away from social events, unless they were supervised family dinners. He’d never been called cute by anyone, let alone a boy of similar age whose laugh made his room sound friendlier than it ever had.

‘Oh no, I’ve made you uncomfortable? I’m sorry, I do that.’ Mafydd swung on Gwyn’s bedpost, and then traced his finger down the recurve bow. ‘My Da is pretty irreverent too, actually. Runs in the family.’

‘Then father likely won’t enjoy his company,’ Gwyn said, taking the recurve bow away and hanging it up on the wall properly.

‘Actually, my Da and yours go way back. They used to fight in the field together. S’why we’re here, actually. So they can get pissed and reminisce on old times. You know how these guys are.’

Gwyn blinked. His father had acquaintances, and colleagues, and family members, but _friends?_ It was hard to imagine.

‘You’re not all stodgy like your Da, now, are you?’

‘I...’ Gwyn didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think he was, but then, he certainly wasn’t as open or laidback as Mafydd either. He flushed again, and Mafydd laughed when he saw it.

‘S’okay, we’re staying for the whole week. We’ve got plenty of time to get to know each other. And if you hate me, then so be it!’

Gwyn stared as Mafydd walked easily out of his room, heading down for dinner. Gwyn followed a few steps behind, rubbing at the back of his neck – still flushed – frowning. He didn’t know what he thought of Mafydd, but he was sure he wouldn’t hate him. Gwyn found it hard to hate anyone, and Mafydd was strangely endearing.

*

Dinner was as terrible as Mafydd had predicted it would be. Gwyn focused on eating slowly, trying to savour each bite. He was ferociously hungry after his day training, but he hadn’t been able to stop in the kitchens first and wolf down some proper fare. So instead he was stuck with this fancy, formal food that lacked anything approaching proper nourishment.

Mafydd dropped his salad fork, and they both bent down at the same time to pick it up, almost bumping heads. Gwyn looked up, surprised to see Mafydd looking at him, that impish gleam in his eye. This close, Gwyn could see little golden flecks in his irises. He had a brief moment where he wondered what kind of fae Mafydd was, before Mafydd looked pointedly behind himself at the conversation still going on, and them dramatically rolled his eyes.

‘See? Boring,’ Mafydd whispered. Gwyn’s breathless chuckle left him before he knew what he was doing, and Mafydd grinned in response. ‘Back to the grindstone,’ Mafydd said under his breath, and they both rose up again above the table, pretending that nothing had happened.

Gwyn’s father looked over at them both, stern. Gwyn felt something cold move through him. All he had to do at family dinners was be on his best behaviour.

He looked down at his plate and waited a long, tense minute. When he looked up, his father was still looking at him, and Gwyn returned the gaze as steadily as he could. He wouldn’t be sent away while guests were there, but has father was looking at him like he wanted to.

It wasn’t until he turned to pick up his goblet that he noticed Mafydd looking between his father and Gwyn with a barely hidden curiosity.

And Mafydd was staying the whole week?

Gwyn repressed the urge to groan.

*

After dinner, he’d gone straight to his rooms. He had a parchment that his father wanted him to memorise. It was tedious and dry, but he thought if he memorised it, his father might offer that tight-lipped smile he offered about once every three or four weeks, when Gwyn had done something that Lludd deemed worth his while.

He was poring over the parchment when his father strode into his room. No knocking, as usual.

Gwyn’s heart started pounding when his father sat down on the bed. He stared at the parchment, but his attention was completely taken up with the presence of his father. He couldn’t concentrate properly. The letters in the words kept swimming together.

‘You were late to dinner, this evening,’ his father said coldly.

‘I wasn’t, I arrived at the same time everyone else d-’

‘I am not in the mood for your dissent,’ his father said, and Gwyn bit his tongue.

Silence between them. Gwyn didn’t apologise, because his father rarely wanted to hear apologies. He looked past his father to the recurve bow hanging on his wall. He’d just lost track of time. He should have been to the house far before sunset. Maybe then he also wouldn’t be so incredibly hungry. He didn’t dare duck back to the kitchens until his father went to bed. He wasn’t supposed to do things that lowborn people would do. But he liked everyone in the kitchens. They were down to earth and they fed him things. His mother had always said he was easily pleased, like it was a bad thing.

‘You are to stay away from Mafydd,’ his father said, and Gwyn’s brow furrowed.

‘Why? Isn’t he the son of your friend?’

‘ _Friend?’_ his father said with disdain. ‘We fought a few times. He was efficient with a catapult. In all honesty I have been trying to put off this dinner and visit for years. But he won’t hear another word of it any longer. As for the son, he is a Reader.’

Gwyn startled. A Reader fae. They were rare. They could see into the emotions of other fae, though it was likely that Mafydd was untrained and not yet in control of his powers. It was still dangerous, even Gwyn knew that. His heart fell. He’d come to like Mafydd already. But he could see, immediately, why his father wanted him to stay away. Readers could pick up secrets and other tantalising hints of stashed emotion as quickly as a mongoose searching out a snake. As they got older, they often occupied valued places in the Court.

He’d probably have to avoid Mafydd for the rest of his life.

‘So you understand,’ his father said, and Gwyn nodded.

‘I do.’

His father stood and peered over Gwyn’s shoulder, and Gwyn tried not to tense further and failed.

‘You’re reading the parchment I gave you.’

‘Yes, father,’ Gwyn said.

‘I gave it to you two weeks ago, and you are only just reading it now?’

Gwyn’s jaw tightened, he ground his teeth together.

‘Well, I suppose you have been training a great deal lately. Make sure you memorise this one.’

Gwyn nodded. His father offered him one of those rare, tight-lipped smiles that Gwyn craved, and then walked out of his room, closing the door behind him.

Gwyn sighed out the breath he’d been holding, and rubbed his fingers over his forehead. He was hungry, his stomach kept screaming at him for food, and he didn’t have any stashed in his rooms anymore.

He’d liked Mafydd, too. A lot, for someone he hardly knew.

He forced his attention back to the parchment, and committed the sentences to memory.

*

It was past midnight when Gwyn woke up with a start, Mafydd pulling the parchment out from under his head. He’d fallen asleep at his reading desk, again.

He looked around wildly only to see and sense that it was very late.

‘You’re not supposed to be in here,’ Gwyn said, and Mafydd peered at the parchment.

‘This looks bo- _ring._ No wonder you fell asleep on it. You’re cute when you sleep, too, you know? Why aren’t I supposed to be here? Your Da, right? Is he ever stern.’

Gwyn pushed his chair back and put some distance between them. Mafydd was a _Reader,_ it just wasn’t safe. Even if Mafydd didn’t know hardly anything about his powers. It could never be safe.

Mafydd, oblivious, walked up to the recurve bow and took it off the wall.

‘We should go out,’ Mafydd said, looking over at Gwyn conspiratorially, sienna eyes gleaming in guttering candlelight. ‘Your Da won’t know anything. But I can shoot a bow, you know. You take the recurve, and I’ll take the longbow, and that’ll be perfect. Not hunting anything, of course. Just...for fun.’

‘It’s...late,’ Gwyn said. He looked at the recurve bow that Mafydd held out to him. It was tempting. He’d never been able to do something like this with someone his own age before. And he enjoyed learning with his tutors, but his father had forbidden them from befriending him.

‘Is it? I hadn’t noticed,’ Mafydd said. ‘I have insomnia. You’d be helping a mate out. I know you want to. I can tell.’

Gwyn swallowed. His mind kept yelling that Mafydd was a Reader fae, he probably wasn’t throwing those words around lightly. He probably _could_ tell. He stared at the recurve bow, and then looked up through the ceiling to the upper levels where he imagined his father was sleeping. He snuck out at night sometimes on his own. His father never usually woke up for it. He drank at night, he slept quite soundly.

‘Or you know,’ Mafydd said, looking over at Gwyn’s four poster bed. ‘We could just say here. Make our own fun.’

‘You are _forward,’_ Gwyn said, affronted and strangely flattered and even curious all at the same time. And then, helpless, he laughed. ‘My father has told me to stay away from you.’

‘I just didn’t expect Lludd to have a son that looked like you,’ Mafydd said, rubbing at the flush on his cheeks. ‘I’m just pushy. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop. But I don’t think it really makes you uncomfortable. Does it? You should let go a little. We should go out and shoot. You can get to know me better. I can get to know you a little better.’

‘I...’

‘Come on,’ Mafydd said, leaning on the syllables. ‘I know you want to. I bet you know how to sneak out of here. You look like the upmarket type, but I bet you’re not.’

Gwyn took the recurve bow hesitantly, and then swallowed when Mafydd handed him the quiver of arrows. He took up Gwyn’s longbow and hefted it in his hands, and then measured it against his own height. Gwyn was shorter than Mafydd, so the longbow was a little too short for him, but Mafydd shrugged.

‘I have my own bolts in the carriage, but I didn’t think to bring a _bow._ I should have, but this still has a nice feel to it. Now, how do we get out of here again?’

Gwyn took a deep breath. He shouldn’t be giving in so quickly, but he couldn’t help it. Mafydd made everything seem so easy, and Gwyn daydreamed sometimes of meeting someone like him. Of practicing in the forest only to stumble across another fae his age, who enjoyed some of the same things he did.

And though he didn’t like angering his father directly, he was at an age where he didn’t like doing everything he said, either. It was complicated. It went against his own centre, but he couldn’t help himself. His father would control every minute of his every day, if he didn’t carve some time out for himself.

Gwyn nodded resolutely, and then lead the way out of the estate. He thought Mafydd might betray his presence, might keep talking in that jocular way, but Mafydd was quiet as a mouse, and even better at keeping his footfalls silent on uneven ground than Gwyn was. It made him feel confident, good even. This could be alright.

*

Gwyn was so hungry that he only managed two hours of shooting before he wandered off to the orchards and shook some oranges off one of the gnarled trees. He picked one up and peeled it with his fingers, getting the sticky juice all over his hands and not caring that Mafydd was watching. A moment later, Mafydd picked up his own orange and began to peel it neatly.

‘You shoot well,’ Mafydd said, sectioning off the orange and biting into a piece far more neatly than Gwyn, who had just bitten into the entire fruit, and then laughed when juices dripped down his chin. He ran the back of his forearm over his mouth and smiled, abashed.

‘Thanks. You’re better than me with the longbow.’

‘Even so,’ Mafydd agreed. ‘Can you imagine how good I’d be with one that was my size? Well, I’m better than what you’ve seen, anyway. If only we lived closer, you’d be fun to shoot with. You bring out my competitive streak. Not many people do that. I’m the best at our estate.’

‘Estate? You said you were lowborn, before,’ Gwyn said, digging his thumbs into a second orange and leaning against the orange tree itself, watching Mafydd with a greater sense of ease. Mafydd was only up to his third section of orange.

‘No,’ Mafydd laughed loudly, ‘I said I was less highborn than _you._ Which, Gwyn, most people are. Your family, honestly, god knows who they sold their souls to for all that status, but shit doesn’t stick to them, does it?’

Gwyn shrugged.

‘You haven’t met Efnisien, then.’

_And you don’t know about me._

‘If I hadn’t seen you eat with all the right cutlery at dinner, I’d never guess you could right now,’ Mafydd laughed as Gwyn shook orange juice off his fingers. And Gwyn smiled back.

‘I didn’t eat all day. I was out shooting. I was meant to come back soon enough to get some food from the kitchens but instead...formal dinner. I hate them. It’s not real food.’

‘It’s really not,’ Mafydd said. ‘We are growing boys. What am I supposed to do with that dish with the slivers of almonds? That’s not enough to grow the fingernail on my littlest of fingers. Our cook makes this bread for the servants, it’s filled with stew and comes out piping hot and I swear, it’s ambrosia.’

‘Maybe our cooks should exchange recipes,’ Gwyn said, stomach rumbling at the thought of bread and stew. Not that cook needed any more recipes, what she made was already wonderful enough.

Mafydd walked closer to the tree that Gwyn was leaning against, and Gwyn watched him, biting his lip and then licking orange juice off of it. He’d demolished his third piece of fruit, peel littered the floor around him. Mafydd came quite close and then bent down and picked up one of the oranges that had been shaken off the tree, turning it in his fingers.

‘I _am_ forward, you know,’ Mafydd said, smiling over at Gwyn as he turned the orange slowly. Gwyn’s awareness heightened, his skin prickled at the way Mafydd was looking at him. ‘I’m only here for a week. It’s not long. I might not see you again.’

Gwyn swallowed, he rubbed at his cheek with the sleeve of his tunic, uncertain.

‘I want to kiss you,’ Mafydd said. ‘Here. Now.’

‘You don’t know me,’ Gwyn said, staring at Mafydd’s eyes, and then looking down at his mouth, before looking away.

‘This would help a lot,’ Mafydd said. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘ _Why?’_ Gwyn said, curious, sticky with orange juice that he hadn’t been able to wipe away properly. He shifted against the tree and then stepped away from it, not wanting his back against something, wanting the option to retreat. He was curious, but that was the worst part. His father had _warned_ him, and the more time he spent with Mafydd, the more he liked him.

‘I want to know what your mouth tastes like,’ Mafydd said.

Gwyn made a noise at Mafydd’s brazenness, and then licked his lips when Mafydd stepped forwards.

‘And as I’ve just eaten an orange, I imagine I’ll taste quite sweet, really. Do you want to find out?’

Gwyn nodded and then stepped backwards when Mafydd went to close the space between them.

Mafydd laughed, and Gwyn smiled, embarrassed.

‘Generally, we have to be close for this to work. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Sorry,’ Gwyn mumbled, and Mafydd grinned. He reached out with an easy hand and grasped Gwyn’s hand in his own, juice tacky between their skin. Gwyn found himself wondering what Mafydd’s mouth would taste like as well. Mafydd had been so blunt, that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. And he was still thinking about it when Mafydd pulled him over, until their chests were touching, until they were very close.

‘A whole week I’m stuck here, and I’m just about the luckiest fae on the planet, that I’ve found a way to pass the time.’

Gwyn shook his head, and then paused when Mafydd rested a thumb on his lip. He felt a spark of warmth zing all the way down the back of his spine.

‘I’m not a way to pass the time,’ Gwyn said, and Mafydd laughed gently.

‘Me either. It’s just a saying. You want to stop?’

Gwyn swallowed, and then his eyes drifted shut when Mafydd trailed his thumb along his bottom lip, back and forth. His breathing hitched when Mafydd pressed closed lips to the corner of his mouth. And when those lips opened, and the tip of a tongue traced the orange juice that was drying there, he reached up with his other hand and placed it on Mafydd’s upper arm, steadying himself.

‘You forgot to answer the question,’ Mafydd said, against the corner of his mouth. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘Please don’t,’ Gwyn said, wincing when he realised his voice was shaking. And then he smiled, tentative, as Mafydd grinned against his mouth.

Mafydd pressed closed lips against Gwyn’s, and left them there, lingering. It wasn’t until Gwyn shifted, restless, and his mouth started to open, that Mafydd slid his tongue easily into Gwyn’s mouth and licked at the inside of his upper lip. Gwyn shivered, and then groaned at the sensation of it, and Mafydd grinned against him, breaking away once more.

‘See? Oranges. You taste good, Gwyn. You should try it.’

‘Let me try,’ Gwyn said, and Mafydd nodded, let go of Gwyn’s sticky hand and stroked his palm down Gwyn’s shoulder.

‘Try anything, go on. I’m not fragile.’

‘Okay,’ Gwyn said, breathless, leaning forwards and pressing his mouth to Mafydd’s. He didn’t move for a few seconds, getting used to the feeling all over again. For some reason it was different, even though they’d just had their mouths together, kissing, a minute ago. He grasped Mafydd’s shoulder more firmly, and was rewarded with a slight sound that made him want to know how to find more of them. He opened his mouth against Mafydd’s slowly, and then Mafydd dipped his tongue back into Gwyn’s mouth and stroked at Gwyn’s tongue, coaxing it forward. He hummed in approval when Gwyn slipped his tongue into Mafydd’s mouth, sensory feedback translating everything into sudden textures. Heat. Slickness. Oranges. Salt.

‘Oranges?’ Mafydd whispered as Gwyn broke off to catch his breath.

‘Yes, it’s good,’ Gwyn said. ‘Can we keep doing it?’

‘Oh,’ Mafydd said, laughing warmly. ‘Remind me to tell you how I really, _really_ wasn’t looking forward to this week.’

‘Okay, let’s do that later,’ Gwyn said, leaning in again. Mafydd chuckled against his mouth and Gwyn followed suit a moment later, unexpectedly delighted, filled with a rush of warmth. His other hand came up and grasped Mafydd’s other shoulder and he licked into his mouth, chasing the sweetness with his tongue. It was heady, and he found himself wanting more.

When they broke away a second time, they were both breathless.

‘You’re only here for a week?’ Gwyn said, licking the taste of Mafydd off his lips.

Mafydd laughed again, and drew Gwyn back in to kiss him once more.


	2. Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much just character development PWP, lol. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> *
> 
> Thanks to all who have commented, left kudos and even bookmarked or subscribed so far! And to the people getting in touch on Tumblr! Oh my goodness I love you guys, and you help the world to go around. Seriously, I have no reason to put this up, except for you folks. I hope you know that. <3 :)

Mafydd had joked that Gwyn would need to sleep in after a night of kissing underneath an orange tree, but Gwyn woke early as usual. He was tired, giddy, but he kept his face schooled to a careful indifference. If his father caught him with the stupid smile on his face that Mafydd had gently mocked in the early hours of the morning, that would be it. He’d never be allowed to see him again. Let alone the actual consequences if his father found out he’d disobeyed and seen him again, had patently _not_ avoided him.

Gwyn was starving. He didn’t wake early enough to make it by the kitchens. By the time he’d finished with his athletics tutor, he was light-headed. He passed by the kitchens on the way back to his rooms, scrounging up two small bread rolls as he went to pick up his books. He tore into them, and was sucking crumbs off his fingers when he opened his door, only to see a clay cooking pot in the middle of his bed.

He walked over to it, noticed it was still warm, stew inside. A note in messy scrawl simply said:

_Will see you later, after classes. Boring! –M._

Gwyn picked up the pot and saw a spoon underneath it, and ate so quickly that it was a miracle he was able to savour the stew and appreciate the flavour at all. He couldn’t help but taste the faintness of oranges, as though Mafydd’s tongue was still inside his mouth. The giddiness returned, a fuzziness that spread all the way to his fingers. Mafydd had brought him something to eat. He was touched.

When he arrived at his second lesson, his tutor kept asking him why he was so happy. Gwyn had backtracked quickly and said it was because he’d finally managed to memorise a scroll his father had wanted him to.

But he wanted to see Mafydd.

He wished he knew what ‘later’ meant.

The rest of the day dragged by, Gwyn a mixture of excited and impatient and wondering if they could kiss again. The night before, Mafydd had kissed him until his lips ached, and then had rubbed his fingers across Gwyn’s swollen lips, groaning something about how, ‘I’m definitely gonna have to try that later.’ And when Gwyn had said, ‘Beg pardon?’ Mafydd had winked at him and said, ‘Eh? What? Did someone say something?’

It was an effort to keep his expressions from his face. He was used to hiding a great many emotions, but giddiness was not one of them. Even when he schooled his face to indifference, he caught himself in a looking glass and saw that his cheeks were flushed, his eyes hectic with brightness. There was very little he could do about that, except perhaps to say that he’d trained harder than usual. No one asked, but he did make sure to keep out of his father’s way, and Mafydd’s way. He desperately wanted to see Mafydd, but as his heart started pounding violently in his chest at just the thought, he knew his father would suspect something if Lludd saw them in the same room together.

What could ‘later’ mean if Gwyn couldn’t see him around the others?

Dinner was a tense affair. Gwyn had been seated next to Lludd, away from Mafydd, and he kept his head down and ate his food, hoped that it came across like he was very diligently avoiding him. Eventually he was drawn into reluctant conversation with Mafydd’s father – glancing at Lludd several times to make sure it was okay for him to talk at the dinner table. But Lludd didn’t eye him with disapproval and his lips didn’t flatten into that thin line, so Gwyn allowed himself to be drawn out on matters of his training, only answering questions when asked, and not prolonging the conversation any longer than he had to. That was the way he’d been taught, but it was difficult. It was obvious that Mafydd’s father knew a great deal about war and battle, and unlike Lludd, wanted to freely and cheerfully speak on the subject.

It was hard to hold his questions in, but he did.

He was so studious at avoiding Mafydd that he didn’t even know if Mafydd had been trying to look at him all night. Would Mafydd understand? _Probably not,_ he realised, with a sinking sensation that turned to heaviness in his gut.

Still, he wondered if he imagined the weight of that sienna gaze on the top of his head for the rest of dinner.

*

Gwyn was stepping out of the shower and startled abruptly when he saw the figure in there with him. He was still catching his breath when Mafydd pushed him back against the cold tiles and splayed both of his hands on Gwyn’s naked body, exhaling hard.

‘Mafydd!’ Gwyn said, looking past him furtively, swallowing at the sensation of another person’s hands on his bare chest. Mafydd’s hands were large, fingers long and clever and callused. And they were almost cold, his own skin flushed after the heat of his own shower. It was one of the few places he allowed himself to indulge at all.

‘Told you I’m forward,’ Mafydd said, flicking a grin up at him.

‘Mafydd, my father might come in,’ Gwyn hissed.

‘Into your _bathroom?_ Gross. I don’t even want to know.’

‘Mafydd!’ Gwyn said, and Mafydd was laughing at him.

‘The door’s closed and locked, and your da isn’t going to barge in I’m sure. Well, look at you, I did wonder,’ Mafydd said, eyes finding Gwyn’s limp cock and settling there. Gwyn tried to side-step away, and Mafydd’s hands tightened.

‘Don’t look at it like that,’ Gwyn whispered.

‘No? Why not? What’s wrong with it?’

And then a hand curled around his flesh and Gwyn gasped at the audacity, because that wasn’t even something he did to _himself._

Gwyn reached down to move Mafydd’s hand, but Mafydd squeezed with his palm and Gwyn’s mouth dropped open, enough that Mafydd only had to lean forward and he could slide his tongue inside. Gwyn made a sound of shock, and Mafydd chuckled into his mouth. He didn’t taste of oranges anymore, a mild saltiness and something that was just Mafydd. Gwyn leaned forwards into the kiss even as he tried to arch his hips away, disturbed that Mafydd could do this so easily. Gwyn didn’t think of his body in this way, not at all. It was an object to be trained, not a...

Mafydd squeezed his hand again, and Gwyn made a small, cut-off sound when he felt himself begin to harden.

Mafydd was stroking his tongue against Gwyn’s sensually, over and over again, and it was distracting. This wasn’t like training, where he had to focus on different parts of his body at once to coordinate everything. This was...

When Mafydd withdrew, Gwyn’s mouth went to follow and Mafydd shook his head.

‘You have to be quiet, okay? You want this to keep going don’t you?’

‘I, what are you-?’

Mafydd sank down to the floor, muttered something under his breath and then dragged Gwyn’s shirt and pants over and pushed them under his knees. He settled and looked up at Gwyn, and then grinned cockily. He still had one hand around Gwyn, and he leaned forwards and opened his mouth, licked the head of him.

Gwyn’s mouth hung open, a soundless gasp was followed by the back of his head thumping into the tiles. The inside of Mafydd’s mouth was still cooler than Gwyn, so hot had he run the water in the shower. But it was wet and there was suction and it was like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. He knew of it, he’d heard talk of it, but he’d never thought, he’d never _dreamed..._

‘Baby, you’re shaking,’ Mafydd said, leaning back and pressing a hand to his thigh. ‘Remember, keep quiet. Put your fist up by your mouth, okay?’

‘But Mafydd, I-’

‘You can do it, you want to listen to what I say don’t you? Right? I guessed right about you, didn’t I?’

‘What are you even talking about?’ Gwyn said, confused. ‘Guessed what? Am I doing something wrong?’

Mafydd’s eyes widened, and then a grin split his features. He was so quick to _smile,_ Gwyn realised. Gwyn couldn’t help but smile back, just a little. And there was Mafydd on his knees in front of him, hand still around him, and Gwyn was hard now, aching. Mafydd’s mouth was _right there._

‘Gwyn, no, you’re doing great. Nothing to worry about. I just have some instincts about you. Just _listen_ to what I’m asking you to do. Put your fist up to your shoulder and rest it there, you’re gonna want something to bite into, okay?’

Gwyn did what he asked, feeling awkward, but Mafydd only winked at him, leaned back in and took the head of his cock back into his mouth. Gwyn’s teeth slammed together and he braced himself against the tiles, shivering like he was cold.

Mafydd lowered his hand down to the base of him, and then took more of him into his mouth. Mafydd made it look easy, he didn’t even hesitate. One moment it was the head of his cock resting on Mafydd’s tongue, the next he was taken deeper and the suction was one of the most incredible things he’d ever felt in his life. His back arched, he raised the flat of his palm to his mouth, blocking off a sharp moan of pleasure. When Mafydd groaned in amusement and approval, Gwyn kept his hand there, grunting at how good it felt, unable to believe that this was happening.

Steam curled around them, thick in the back of his nose, and he sucked it down, desperate for air. Light jumped like agitated dust motes in his blood, he felt it leap higher and higher, a painful heat that added an edge to everything that Mafydd did. Alongside it came a thread of apprehension, but he couldn’t remember why. Heat was coiling low in his pelvis, a spring that was pulling tighter and tighter, drawing his balls up into his body.

When Mafydd started moving his hand back and forth, Gwyn had to remember how to breathe, and then suddenly panicked because the light was too _close._

‘Stop, stop, _stop,’_ Gwyn said, hearing the sound of his own hyperventilation as he jerked sideways too hard and earned an accidental scrape of teeth against his shaft for his trouble, whimpering in pain.

‘Sorry, shit, what’s the problem?’

Gwyn stared at him, frightened. He was supposed to keep the light _in,_ but that felt too much like...too much like he wouldn’t be able to keep it under control. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even supposed to talk about it, except to say that he was light fae and that his light was a neutral light.

Mafydd was wiping at his spit-slick mouth with the back of his hand and Gwyn’s cock twitched in appreciation. Mafydd laughed when he felt it jump in his palm.

‘Okay, talk to me, what’s wrong?’

‘I felt...’ Gwyn stared at Mafydd as though Mafydd could tell him the answers. What had just happened? He’d had orgasms before hadn’t he? Woken up with the sheets sticky and a feeling of shame and pleasure spiralling all the way through him. And he’d never released his light then.

It was just...it felt so _close._

Mafydd’s face cleared in understanding.

‘I didn’t even think, sorry,’ Mafydd said, keeping his hand around him. ‘Your power, huh? You’re too young to have it under control? It’s not like mine is it? Not dormant until you’re of age? That’s no matter, I can teach you.’

‘Teach me what?’ Gwyn said, heart fluttering in his chest. Did other people have powers that they were supposed to suppress? He thought it was only him. Was there someone else who had the light like he did? Who had done the terrible thing he’d done?

‘Well you know, some fae feel like they’re gonna blow their power when they come. You have to learn how not to do that, because otherwise your da is gonna find out, isn’t he? Can’t have you glowing like a torch lit with pitch.’

‘You can _teach_ me?’ Gwyn said, and Mafydd nodded, moving his hand absently on Gwyn’s cock. Gwyn made a strangled sound and Mafydd chuckled when he realised what he was doing. Instead of stopping, he did it more deliberately, brushing his thumb over the head of Gwyn’s cock, collecting precome and smearing it back over him, deliberately pushing his foreskin further down.

Gwyn’s hand clapped back over his mouth as he cried out. He felt the sting of it on his lips.

‘Yeah, I can teach you,’ Mafydd said roughly, hand stilling. ‘It feels like it’s building underneath your skin, right? That’s how it’s been described to me before. I once fucked a fae who blew out his power by bursting into flames. Like, let me tell you, that is _not_ what you want to have happen if you’re gonna fuck someone. You’re not as dangerous as that, but I think the mechanics of it is the same.’

Mafydd was lazily moving his hand, too slow to have Gwyn coming, but not so slow that Gwyn didn’t feel it there, the light creeping along underneath his skin, hungry and desperate.

‘Close your eyes,’ Mafydd said, voice firming. Gwyn’s eyes drifted shut immediately, responding to the tone in his voice. ‘Great. Now, find your light. There should be a core of it inside you. Everything is coming from that.’

‘I...’ Gwyn’s brow furrowed. He thought it was meant to be hard to find the centre of something, but it seemed like as soon as he looked for it, it was there. It was a wild, massive ball inside of him, with huge loops and ropes of light spinning out of it. The whole thing shook with a massive need to _devour._ Gwyn shook to see it there. He had dreams about it sometimes. ‘I have it.’

‘Don’t panic, this is the easy part,’ Mafydd said. ‘Build a glass ball around the whole thing and then imagine that ball shrinking along with the power until you can pick it up.’

As soon as Gwyn imagined the glass ball around it, the sensation of light immediately dropped down from underneath his skin. He breathed out a sigh of relief, and then he moaned when Mafydd’s hand sped up against him.

‘M-Mafydd...’ Gwyn said, hesitant. The light didn’t feel like it would be held for long.

‘Shrink it down, can you hold it yet?’

Gwyn had forgotten to do that part.

‘I can’t concentrate,’ Gwyn pleaded.

‘You have to concentrate,’ Mafydd said firmly. ‘Or we can’t do this. So _concentrate,_ shrink the ball down. You’re gonna have to do this every time, okay? One day it’ll become second nature, but for now you need to concentrate.’

Gwyn nodded, gasped, squeezed his eyes shut as Mafydd kept up that faster speed. He could feel the light leaping and bouncing against the inside of the ball he’d made around it. And as he shrunk the ball down, he could feel the light fighting back against him, its hunger a terrible thing. He whimpered in distress, and then felt another hand rubbing the outside of his thigh.

‘You’re doing great,’ Mafydd said. ‘You shrinking it?’

Gwyn nodded.

‘Okay, grab it, is it small enough to grab?’

Gwyn mentally reached out hesitantly, worried that if he touched the ball in his mind, he would somehow shatter it and unleash the light. But he was meant to trust Mafydd, after all, this was the most control he’d had over his light _ever._ Short of just ignoring it all the time and not doing the things that agitated it, this was incredible. He didn’t know it could be like this. And that hand on his cock, he didn’t want it to stop.

But he didn’t want to hurt Mafydd.

‘The glass will crack,’ Gwyn said, shakily.

‘No, no, baby, it won’t. A lot of fae have to learn this, okay? If more of them cracked the glass, wouldn’t we know about it? People would care a lot more about this kind of stuff. So just, touch your fingertips to it, and then grab it. I promise it won’t break.’

Gwyn reached out mentally with his fingers and touched it, expecting to be burned. Instead he felt the cold surface of glass in his mind’s eye, felt the light quivering.

‘Okay...okay,’ Gwyn said. ‘I’m-’

‘Shove it down,’ Mafydd said. ‘Literally grab it and push it down towards your feet.’

Gwyn did, and he felt resistance immediately. But the more he mentally pushed the ball down, the further the light fell from his skin, the less close and agitated it was.

‘By the gods,’ Gwyn said, amazed.

Mafydd’s hand sped up immediately. Gwyn moaned past his hand, which had gone lax against his own mouth, and Mafydd tightened his grip, spread more precome down his shaft so that some of it was slick, some of it dry.

‘Keep that ball _down._ You concentrate, or we’re gonna have some problems in about sixty seconds.’

And with that, Mafydd let his mouth envelop the head of Gwyn’s cock again, applied suction so intense that it edged on painful. The light leapt up again and Gwyn felt like he was splitting himself apart to keep the light down, to keep focusing on the pleasure that Mafydd was wringing out of him. His own hand clawed at his face, fingernails digging in as he tried to concentrate on both.

_I can’t,_ Gwyn wailed at himself, but he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ hurt Mafydd.

Sounds were being torn from him now, and a hand on his hipbone, the other at the base of his cock stopping him from thrusting forward too hard. He was whimpering on every exhale, dragging breath in, starving for air. And Mafydd kept working him over, determined, lacking so much shame that Gwyn forgot to be ashamed.

The glass ball escaped his grip, light crept on a rapid swarm of spider’s feet beneath his skin until Gwyn, with one gargantuan amount of effort, grabbed onto the ball again and shoved it down just as Mafydd hummed around him and his concentration shattered.

The light couldn’t rise fast enough to blow through him, and instead something else moved violently through his nerves. He keened up against his own hand, biting into his lower lip so hard that he bled. And Mafydd kept his mouth around him, swallowed him down as he found his release. It was the first time he’d ever experienced it while conscious, not asleep, and he didn’t know it could be _better._ His hips spasmed, his legs were shaking so hard he thought his knees would have buckled were they not locked into place.

And Mafydd licked at him, stroked him through it, even reached down and tickled his fingers over the underside of Gwyn’s balls. Gwyn made a strangled noise of protest at that because everything was too sensitive. He felt stretched too tight beneath his own skin, as though he might – at any moment – split apart even without the light to do that for him.

Mafydd withdrew, smacking his lips together lewdly. He opened the fastening of his pants as he stood up, and his cock sprung free. He rubbed at it, easing his own arousal, and then grabbed Gwyn’s wrist and pulled his hand away from his mouth. He sealed his lips to Gwyn’s, pushing the taste of his seed inside of his mouth. Gwyn made a sound of protest, and Mafydd ignored him, painting it over his tongue, licking it up into the roof of his mouth.

Gwyn’s protest had been kneejerk, and it wasn’t until the taste of it actually reached him, that he realised he didn’t mind it so much. He licked back at Mafydd’s tongue, curious, and Mafydd laughed against him.

‘Your turn,’ Mafydd said, not unkindly. He ruffled Gwyn’s hair in his fingers and then leaned back and looked at him appraisingly. He saw where Gwyn had bitten into his own lip and leaned forwards again, lapping at the spot of blood. ‘Oh, baby, you had a good time, didn’t you?’

‘How did you know to teach me that?’ Gwyn said against his mouth. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Yeah, some older fae just forget we aren’t born knowing. Mine isn’t like yours. Mine is like...a really fucking stubborn glass ball beneath the ground that I have to dig for and I usually can’t find it, let alone bring it above the surface. Yours started above, and you have to push it down. Mostly it’s all about just shifting it where you need it to go. You did so great. You sound so good when you come. Fuck, I need to get you somewhere I can _hear_ you.’

Mafydd stroked a hand down Gwyn’s chest, and then reached out with both hands and turned him so that Gwyn was standing on his own clothing where it was rumpled and creased on the damp floor.

‘Your turn,’ Mafydd said, leaning his shoulders back against the wall and canting his hips forward. ‘Get on your knees for me, okay? Do you want to? You don’t have to, but-’

‘I really want to try,’ Gwyn said, getting down on shaky knees and then laughing when he managed none too gracefully. His legs felt weak. Mafydd ruffled his hair again, chuckling with him, and Gwyn beamed up at him, surprised at how good he felt. This was...nothing like what he thought it would be.

Mafydd shimmied his hips out of his pants, let them crease into folds around his ankles. Gwyn stared at his thatch of pubic hair, which was surprisingly thick. He reached out his hand and feathered his fingers through it. Gwyn didn’t grow much body hair at all, except on the top of his head. He didn’t need to shave. Sometimes he wondered if that was because of the light burning through him, that it picked away at all his hair follicles, crisping them before he could grow hair on his chest, under his arms, between his legs. He felt embarrassed by it, especially now, combing his fingers through the curliness of Mafydd’s.

‘You can look and touch all you want,’ Mafydd said, a smile in his voice. ‘Anything you do will be good. Except teeth. Try to avoid teeth. Yeah?’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, stroking the pubic hair more. Mafydd had a smell to him, a muskiness which Gwyn thought was not unlike his own. There was a glistening, clear droplet of fluid beading at the tip of Mafydd’s cock, the head of which was flushed dark. Gwyn reached out with his index finger and gathered it up, bringing it to his lips. He tasted it with the tip of his tongue, and Mafydd swore, a hand coming out to grasp at his hair, burying fingers close to his scalp.

‘Just like that,’ Mafydd said. ‘How does it taste?’

‘Different. Different to mine.’

‘Yeah. It’s pre-spend, it’s saltier.’

Gwyn looked up at him, eyes wide. There was just so much he didn’t _know._ He wanted to learn everything. He leaned forwards and pressed the tip of his tongue to the slit of Mafydd’s cock, wanting to taste more of it, and Mafydd – as though on some invisible command – leaked more precome, so that Gwyn could lap it away.

Gwyn liked it, being on his knees like this, Mafydd looking down at him. He was sure his father wouldn’t approve. It wasn’t only that he had forbidden Gwyn from seeing Mafydd, but also that he was the one on his knees, about to give something of himself to someone else. He wanted it so badly, but he knew, he knew from hearing soldiers talk, he knew from hearing offhand conversation, that wanting this as much as he did might not be approved of by his father, no matter who he got it from.

Gwyn touched his fingertips to the place where Mafydd’s cock met his pelvis, and rubbed curiously. Mafydd sighed happily, did nothing else. He then trailed up over the softer skin of Mafydd’s cock, feeling how Mafydd was so hard that his skin was taut now, it barely shifted over the stiffness of him. Cautiously, Gwyn wrapped his fingers around Mafydd’s length and squeezed hesitantly, like Mafydd had done to him.

‘Put your mouth on me,’ Mafydd said, breathless. ‘Please.’

Gwyn would have done it anyway, but hearing Mafydd say _please_ like that, it unknotted something inside of him. It felt so good. His cock twitched curiously between his legs and he shivered, surprised at how much he was enjoying himself.

He opened his mouth, opened it wider again, and then licked forwards with his tongue. The taste was good, and he let the head of him fall inside his mouth. He kept his teeth away, remembering how the scrape had felt against his own flesh. And then he tried sucking, knowing how good that had felt around his own skin.

Mafydd’s hand tightened in Gwyn’s hair, pulled at his skin. It sent a shiver through Gwyn’s body. He moaned softly, Mafydd swore in response.

Gwyn pressed forwards, curious to see how much he could take. He let his jaw hang lax, saliva building uncomfortably in his throat. He pulled back suddenly and swallowed it down, brow furrowing. How was he supposed to deal with that? He looked up at Mafydd in confusion, even as Mafydd reached down with his other hand and rubbed at his lips sensually.

‘Your mouth is so _hot,’_ Mafydd said, happily. ‘Spit’s becoming a problem, huh?’

Gwyn nodded.

‘Let it,’ Mafydd said. ‘It’s supposed to be messy. Either swallow it while I’m inside your mouth, because that will feel _amazing_ for me. Or let it come out.’

‘But, then I’d just be...’

He couldn’t say it.

‘Drooling? Yeah, fuck, _yes,_ you would be. Trust me when I say that part of taking someone into your mouth is not only messing the other person up, but messing _yourself_ up. It might be hard for you to imagine, but for me, it’s gorgeous. Okay? So whatever you do with it, swallowing it, letting it out, it’s all good. All of it.’

Gwyn flushed hot, his cock twitched again to hear Mafydd speak so casually about these things to him. There was a hunger in Mafydd’s pale eyes as he stared down at Gwyn. His fingers were still tight in his hair. It was as though Mafydd was holding himself back, as though he wanted to pounce on Gwyn and devour him, and that... _that_ was appealing. Gwyn found that he wanted to be devoured.

And he adored Mafydd, that Mafydd would tell him all of these things. Mafydd had brought him stew, had shared oranges with him in a grove. Mafydd who was different to anyone else he had ever met.

Gwyn leaned forward without being prompted, took Mafydd back into his mouth, a dull, minor ache striking up in his jaw as he lowered it down again. He shifted his hand and pressed further, and then suckled first carefully, and then harder as Mafydd groaned in appreciation. Mafydd’s hand shifted on his head, encouraging him to move backwards, and then encouraging him to move forwards again, while pushing in with his own hips. Gwyn flushed hot when he realised that it was very much like what he knew of fucking, and he made a small noise in the back of his throat to have his own mouth used like that.

The saliva built up again and he hesitated a moment against the pressure of Mafydd’s hand, swallowed while Mafydd was still inside his mouth and Mafydd hummed. Gwyn suddenly knew what he meant. The back of his throat had closed against the tip of Mafydd’s cock, it would have provided an involuntary pleasure. Gwyn swallowed again on purpose, and Mafydd started to stroke Gwyn’s hair with his other hand. It was affectionate and sweet, and Gwyn went back to moving, pleased.

Gwyn’s cock twitched again and he was surprised to feel himself getting hard. It happened slower this time, and there was a faint ache to it, far duller than what he felt in his jaw. It was like forcing himself to work even when his muscles were over-tired, but he savoured that sensation, and he savoured it now.

‘Do you trust me?’ Mafydd said suddenly, breathless, and Gwyn nodded. ‘Okay I want to try something. Just...patience. Stop me if it feels wrong, okay?’

Mafydd’s hands both clenched on the top of Gwyn’s head and drew him forwards until Mafydd hit the back of his throat. Gwyn choked a little, tears sprang to his eyes. He resisted, hand clenching harder around the base of Mafydd’s cock in protest, but Mafydd kept him there, indicating that was the point. But Gwyn couldn’t breathe properly, it felt frightening. Mafydd withdrew a little, and only then – as he caught his breath – did Gwyn realise that he’d forgotten to swallow, he was drooling.

‘You can take this down the back of your throat,’ Mafydd said. ‘It’s hard, and it’ll hurt a little, but it feels _so_ good, Gwyn. You would make me feel so good. Do you want to at least try?’

Gwyn looked from Mafydd’s hip up to his face, and Mafydd’s expression softened when he saw his eyes.

‘Oh, just keep looking at me like that.’

Mafydd thrust forward a little and Gwyn made a sound of shock, swallowing automatically, realised he was trembling.

‘You were made for this,’ Mafydd purred. ‘Will you try?’

Gwyn hesitated for a long moment, heart beating painfully in his chest. This was...he didn’t know what this was. But he wanted to make Mafydd feel good, and he wanted to try. He wanted to learn as much as he could. He nodded once in assent, and Mafydd beamed at him, cheeks dimpling, eyes gleaming with pleasure.

‘Take the hand you’ve got wrapped around me away,’ Mafydd said. Gwyn unwrapped his fingers from Mafydd’s cock, but placed his hand on his thigh in case he needed to stop him again. He could sense Mafydd’s hunger, his need for this. And it made him anticipatory, it made him _want,_ but it also made him apprehensive.

‘Okay, I’m going to push to the back of your throat again, and I just want you to try swallowing. Okay? Just try. It doesn’t matter if you can’t get it. Not everyone can do it.’

Gwyn nodded and Mafydd slipped deeper into his mouth slowly. When he edged up against the back of his mouth, he lowered his hand down to Gwyn’s throat and massaged it firmly. Gwyn felt his instinct to swallow there, and held back from it, frightened.

‘You only need to try, baby,’ Mafydd said. ‘Just try for me.’

He swallowed automatically, the back of his throat closing and opening, and Mafydd slid forwards into that space, angling Gwyn’s head upwards suddenly with a hand at his neck, the other grasping his hair and pulling backwards. Suddenly, even as he finished swallowing, Mafydd was in his throat and he couldn’t _breathe._ And just as quickly, Mafydd withdrew and Gwyn was choking and coughing, squeezing absently at Mafydd’s thigh and blinking tears out of his eyes.

His cock was getting harder.

A hand was stroking through his hair, petting him like an animal, and he blindly opened his mouth and took Mafydd back in again, overwhelmed and curious and wanting to know why it made the lower half of his body burn like he was on fire. Mafydd helped him, pulling him forwards, and Gwyn swallowed when Mafydd reached the back of his throat again. Swallowed, angled his head, and suddenly Mafydd was _there,_ deeper than before, and he felt _full_ and like sparks were dancing in front of his eyes.

Mafydd drew back, slipped out of the cramped space of his throat and Gwyn sucked in air around his cock, drew it down the back of his nose. Caught his breath and even as he did, Mafydd pressed forwards again and Gwyn suddenly realised what Mafydd wanted him to do. To open his throat for him like that, so that he might only catch his breath when Mafydd withdrew, and heat flared low in his belly and made him moan thickly against the head of Mafydd’s cock even as it pushed rudely at the back of his throat, forcing its way down until Gwyn suddenly had his nose pressed into pubic hair and his throat was aching.

Mafydd ruffled his hair, held him still.

‘Oh, Gwyn, _fuck,_ you’re going to let me come down the back of your throat, aren’t you?’

Gwyn hummed in agreement, because he was hard _._ Mafydd wasn’t even touching him there. Breathing was becoming a problem and it made Gwyn feel like he was falling into some sink of pleasure and apprehension and pain and when Mafydd withdrew, he withdrew all the way and Gwyn fell forwards slightly, gasping.

‘I’m hard again,’ he rasped, his own voice shocking himself.

‘I _knew_ it,’ Mafydd said, keeping his cock pressed against Gwyn’s cheek. Gwyn couldn’t tell what he felt at that, but he didn’t think he minded too much. Mafydd made things that Gwyn thought were shameful seem normal and fine, and he was easy about everything. Gwyn thought that even if he couldn’t do it, even if he had to stop, Mafydd would be okay with it and probably just find something else for them to do.

But Gwyn liked it a lot.

 ‘Alright, you do this at your own pace, and when I’m gonna come, I’ll warn you, okay? I would really, _really_ like it if you would let me come down the back of your throat, but it’s gonna feel good if you let me come on your face too, so whatever works,’ Mafydd said and Gwyn shivered, looked up at Mafydd, and then looked at the tip of his cock as Mafydd got ready to push in again. Precome leaked freely from the tip.

Gwyn opened his mouth and leaned forwards, moving quickly now, beginning to get a sense of the rhythm of it. His mouth was wet, his jaw hurt, and when the tip of Mafydd brushed against the back of his throat and Gwyn swallowed, he realised that his throat hurt too. But none of it made him feel bad, it all made him feel even better. And every time Mafydd bottomed out against him, every time his nose bumped against the skin of his pelvis, Gwyn felt himself flush with a growing heat. He realised that he, too, was beginning to leak precome.

Mafydd was true to his word, he let Gwyn find a rhythm that suited him, one that kept a fire stoked low in his gut, throbbing through his length. It was incredible, and Gwyn realised his light was building again. This time he caught it visually, lost in the rhythm of Mafydd’s movements, sucking hard when he could, catching his breath and drooling and lost in the mess of it all. Even then he was still able to find it before it spun too far out of control, and he shoved the glass ball of light back down again to buy himself more time.

Gwyn didn’t think he could come without his cock being touched, and was reluctant to touch it himself. He’d always had problems doing that. But he didn’t exactly mind either. This was...this was much better than he thought it was going to be.

Mafydd picked up the rhythm slightly, and Gwyn knew he was close. He sped up to accommodate, but Mafydd pushed harder, pressing in longer when he was all the way down the back of his throat, not withdrawing as long, making Gwyn feel light-headed and dizzy from lack of air.

Mafydd began groaning on every exhale, using Gwyn’s head now, two hands clasped in his hair and directing him, and Gwyn whimpered because he was _close_.

Mafydd became rougher suddenly, his cock swelling and his thrusts scraping harder at Gwyn’s mouth, making him choke and then gag. And it was on the second gag that Mafydd pulled Gwyn’s head forward sharply and Gwyn felt the sensation of come moving through Mafydd’s cock and then flooding the back of his throat. Gwyn swallowed helplessly, throat aching, feeling surrounded by Mafydd. And it was this along with the fact that he just couldn’t _breathe,_ couldn’t move, that made his hips stutter forwards as he came without a single touch, spurting come onto his own clothing and the bathroom floor.

Mafydd withdrew quickly, one last spasm causing him to release a small amount of seed onto Gwyn’s tongue. Gwyn swallowed it automatically, tasting a flavour more bitter than his own, and not caring because he needed _air._ He fell forwards slightly when Mafydd withdrew properly, gasping and swallowing down saliva and his face wet with tears. He needed _another_ shower.

Mafydd slid down the wall and then, with a tired, lazy smile on his face, he reached forwards and slid his hand around Gwyn’s softening cock, squeezing it until Gwyn hissed and batted at his wrist, oversensitive.

‘Quit,’ Gwyn said, his voice more hoarse than he could remember it being in a long time. His throat ached and it wasn’t entirely pleasant. That had been more difficult than he’d thought, but oh, so wonderful. He wanted to do it again. ‘Why didn’t you do that to me?’

‘I can’t,’ Mafydd said ruefully. ‘My gag reflex is too strong. I have tried, just doesn’t happen. Did you like it? Are you okay?’

Gwyn nodded, feeling weak now. He’d come twice, he’d spent the entire day with his nerves alight and terrified Lludd would realise that he was disobeying him. He shuddered with a sudden wave of exhaustion, and Mafydd leaned forwards and placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘You’re alright,’ Mafydd said. ‘You did just great. And this is okay isn’t it? No one’s noticed, we can keep doing this?’

‘If father finds out...’

‘Lecture of a lifetime?’ Mafydd said, though his eyes narrowed as though he was looking for something else.

‘Something like that,’ Gwyn said evasively.

‘Then we just make sure he doesn’t find out, huh? Besides, you’ll heal pretty quickly. I know your throat is raw right now, but-’

‘I’m Court,’ Gwyn said, and they both nodded. That explained everything. Something as minor as a grazed, bruised throat would not be a problem in the morning. It was a pain that Gwyn would savour until it disappeared.

He didn’t say anything for some time. He looked up as Mafydd stood, pulling his pants back up.

‘I want to stay,’ Mafydd said. ‘But I stole this time and stayed longer than I thought I would. I know we have to be careful. I should go, huh? I can’t stay?’

‘I want you to,’ Gwyn said.

He really, really did.

Mafydd’s face broke into a weary smile.

‘Aye, me too. You’re sweeter than all your family combined. You’re like finding a rabbit amongst crocodiles. Why is that, hm?’

Gwyn blinked, he had no idea. His family always made him feel like that wasn’t the case at all.

Mafydd ruffled his hair, and then pressed his fingers closer and rubbed at the wet curls of his scalp soothingly.

‘My da and yours are going away tomorrow for a little while. And-’

‘Yes,’ Gwyn said eagerly, without thinking. ‘Yes, please. Could we?’

Mafydd smiled down at him and Gwyn flushed when he realised how he must have sounded, how _desperate._ He looked away, embarrassed, but Mafydd only smeared some of his tears off his cheeks.

‘You’re the best thing about this place, of course I’ll come find you. If it’s safe and no one will tattle, we’ll spend some time. Now, you need a shower again, clean that pretty face of yours up. And I am going to go back down to your family and my da, and pretend like I didn’t just fuck your throat raw.’

Gwyn swallowed and still tasted Mafydd in his mouth, he watched as Mafydd turned and left, smoothing down his shirt as he closed Gwyn’s bathroom door behind him. Gwyn stayed on his bathroom floor a little longer, dazed and sated and his mind free from clutter in a way he couldn’t ever remember experiencing before.

Something about that whole encounter, whether it was Mafydd giving him orders he actually wanted to follow, or the feeling that he had – almost the entire time – been doing the right thing...something about it all left him feeling pleased. And the sensation was so alien, and so unlike him, that he simply stayed paralysed on the floor for several minutes until it abated enough that he could move again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One and a half more chapters to go.


	3. Full

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These titles are super subtle, aren't they? 
> 
> *
> 
> Warnings for like everything in this chapter. Rough sex. Domestic violence. Child abuse. Mafydd being really explicit. Gwyn being a puppy. All the warnings. Wait those are warnings right? They are to me! 
> 
> Only 'half' a chapter left now, and then that's all she wrote basically (for once!)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your continued feedback, *loves*

Gwyn was nervous and agitated all day. He couldn’t believe what Mafydd had shown him the previous day, and in his second shower he’d run his tongue all along the inside of his mouth, imagining that he could taste him. His throat hurt for some time afterwards, and he thought it still ached in the morning, but he couldn’t be sure. By midday, the ache was gone and he only had the memory left. But he clung to it, because it was one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

He wasn’t supposed to leave the estate for anything other than training or tutoring, but he found himself wondering if he could somehow – _somehow –_ find a way to beg some time away with his father. Surely he could say that Mafydd’s father was going to teach him some other weapons? Or perhaps he could say he would be learning longbow with Mafydd’s tutor.

But the deep well of dread in his gut reminded him that Lludd would never agree to it. Gwyn was meant to be staying _away_ from Mafydd, not courting his company.

But it wasn’t like Mafydd’s Reading had activated around Gwyn – as far as Gwyn could tell – and Gwyn was certain that he would be safe. No one had found out so far, and no one would in the future. The consequences were too dire. Gwyn knew that.

He kept himself scarce while Lludd got ready to leave on a hunting trip with Mafydd’s father. And Mafydd – he heard from the servants – was staying close to his own father and being ‘such an obedient, sweet boy.’ It made Gwyn laugh under his breath, because he knew that Mafydd was sweet, but not obedient, and so much more than that too. Their illicit meetings sent his blood racing through his body, and more than that, he was so, _so_ excited that he finally had a way to properly control his light.

He practiced the glass ball technique all the time, bringing his light up, sending it down again. Why had no one taught him? It was amazing.

But it left him agitated, keeping the light down for too long. Still, he couldn’t help casing it up in visualised glass and sending it away.

Sometimes he pretended he sent it so far away, it could never come back.

*

Mafydd slapped him on the back while Gwyn was in the weapons room, and then made a show of picking out daggers and looking at them.

‘You should show me the stables,’ Mafydd said, staring at the tang of a blade. Gwyn’s face shot up. He stared at him.

‘What if they come back? What if they forget something and come back?’

‘We’ll hear the horses won’t we? And we’ll run away. But I really want to see the stables. With you. So you should come meet me in a couple of hours.’

Gwyn’s nervousness pounded up through him and he fumbled the bow he was holding, dropping down to catch it with fast reflexes before it hit the floor. Mafydd made a sound of shock, and Gwyn looked up. Mafydd had a hand pressed to his chest, the other held the knife loosely, absently.

‘Oh, I think I felt that,’ Mafydd said in some surprise.

‘What?’ Gwyn said, breath deserting him. He straightened, shaking.

‘Nervousness. Nerves. That’s you isn’t it? Oh, baby, you don’t have to be scared. It’s going to be fun! Come meet me. I’ve scoped the place out. And I checked with the servants about your classes, I know you’ll have a bit of time free. You’ll like it, I promise.’

Mafydd dropped his hand and offered a bemused smile to Gwyn.

‘It’s gone now. Feel much more like myself again. Yeah, my da said I was gonna hate Reading, and I’m starting to wonder if he was right. Anyway, see you in the stables!’

And with that, he left Gwyn shaking with fear in the weapons room, wondering what he should do.

*

He couldn’t stay away.

He couldn’t, Mafydd was lovely, and even if Mafydd was a Reader, his father had promised him that Readers couldn’t tell he was...the way he was. He’d had a procedure when he’d been little. He remembered the pain of it, and Lludd had said it would keep him protected. So even if Mafydd _could_ read what he felt, he wouldn’t know why, he’d have to ask. He was an empath, not a telepath. And even telepaths couldn’t read him properly. His father had made certain of that.

Even so, his heart was racing so fast that he ended up dry retching behind the kennels, with the few dogs that had been left behind  baying at him in excitement simply to know he was there. He hushed them, and continued on his way, apprehensive, listening for the sound of hooves, convinced that at any moment Lludd would come home and realise what he’d done.

But Lludd didn’t realise, and Gwyn crept through one of the back entrances into the stables. No one else was around, and Gwyn wondered if Mafydd had sent them away. He seemed like the kind of person who knew how to do things like that. He heard instead the sound of the horses remaining in the stables shifting and shuffling quietly, whuffling out exhales of acknowledgement as Gwyn walked by. As he passed his own – a grey, dappled mare – he put his hands to her muzzle as she hooked her head over the stall and stared at him with a grave face.

‘Hello, Greyness. I’ll come back and see you later, alright?’ Her nose was velvety soft against his palm, and he smiled as she wrinkled it to lip at his skin, keeping her teeth safely away. After a minute of that, she stepped back into her stall and nosed around in the hay for bits of feed that had fallen out of her bucket. Gwyn left her, continued down the stalls, looking for Mafydd.

Their stables were large, and Gwyn found Mafydd tucked into the very last room – a storage space used for polishing and working tack and bits and other equipment, where old and new items hung alongside each other, needing adjustments or repairs. The room smelled of leather and liniment and oil, and hay and horses and earth. Mafydd was sitting on a bench, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle.

When he saw Gwyn, he stood up and bounded over, scruffing his shoulder length hair up in his hands and kissing him, the smile making the kiss more fun than sensual. Gwyn laughed, couldn’t help himself, caught up in the infectiousness of it, and Mafydd licked his way into Gwyn’s mouth, pressing thumbs behind his ears and groaning happily.

‘You made it, I wondered if you’d make it.’

They kissed until Gwyn’s lips were swollen and he could feel them tingling, Mafydd scraping his teeth across them and nipping them. He licked and sucked where he bit. His hands came down to the hem of Gwyn’s shirt and tugged upwards, and Gwyn stepped backwards out of his grip, eyes widening.

‘But-’

‘You’re beautiful,’ Mafydd said, stepping forwards again. ‘Let me see you. Come on. I’ve seen you after a shower, this will be nothing.’

‘But others might come.’

‘Might they? I bribed the stablehands, they won’t come by. We’ll hear anyone, and I bet you know how to get dressed quickly. C’mon, you pretty thing. Here, let me lead the way.’

Mafydd pulled down his pants first, his half-hard cock revealing itself. Gwyn stared at the flushed length for several seconds and then blushed when Mafydd noticed and grinned. He distracted himself by taking off his own shirt, his heart still thundering with nerves and excitement and dread. He knew what Mafydd wanted to do, he had an idea. He’d heard servants talking about it, among other things, and it left him with gooseflesh all across his body.

Gwyn kept looking at Mafydd, even as Mafydd picked up his pants and his short-sleeved shirt and taken them over to a wooden chair and draped them over the armrest. He was muscular and tan, with hair on his chest and starting halfway down his belly in a trail that led to the pubic hair between his legs. He had a single, long scar that curved around his back shoulder blade and Gwyn stepped towards it, placing his fingers over it curiously.

‘How did you get this?’ Gwyn said, as Mafydd paused and let Gwyn look at his leisure. The scar was dark, it looked badly healed.

‘Ah, that, well, a couple of years ago a Mage stormed through our village and wanted the land, my da lives on sacred land and he wanted it for his magic. I went up against him. He used- he fought with chains made of red fire. I got it in the shoulder when I wasn’t looking. The Mage got it too.’

‘You were triumphant?’

‘Yeah,’ Mafydd said, turning back to him and grinning, curving his fingers around the back of Gwyn’s neck and drawing him close. ‘Come on, over here.’

He was dragging Gwyn with him towards the bench, kissing him at the same time. The cold, compacted soil was cool on Gwyn’s bare feet, and Mafydd licked at his lips over and over again, messy and wet and eager. Mafydd tightened his grip on the back of Gwyn’s neck and used pressure to encourage him down, so that they were both kneeling. And then Mafydd reached forwards and curled his fingers around Gwyn’s cock, tugging him erect quickly, fingers playing with his foreskin with an easy familiarity that made Gwyn gasp and choke on his own breath.

‘You’re gonna lose this?’ Mafydd said. ‘Soldiers don’t get to keep them, you know.’

‘I know,’ Gwyn said, blushing dark. Mafydd’s foreskin had already been cut away. ‘Did it hurt?’

‘A little, yeah. Kind of a shame really, because look how sensitive it is.’

Gwyn could already tell, was taking huge breaths and feeling dizzy as Mafydd idly played with the tip of him. He pushed it back and then circled the bare head of him, using his calluses to create a sharper, edged friction. Mafydd had his other hand on Gwyn’s neck, encouraging him to look down. Gwyn found himself staring at Mafydd’s hand, his clever fingers. A rush of adoration surged through him.

‘I really like you,’ Gwyn said, voice breaking.

Mafydd laughed.

‘Then return the favour, yeah? Put your hand on me.’

Gwyn reached out and felt the weight of him in the flat of his palm, Mafydd now completely erect. Then he curled his fingers around him and squeezed experimentally, moving his hand in the same way that Mafydd had, copying him and his mouth going dry when Mafydd groaned, abandoned. Gwyn looked around, scared again that they would be discovered. And then he was distracted by Mafydd slipping his hand beneath his cock and rolling his balls in his fingers. Gwyn blinked stars out of his eyes, suddenly had to concentrate on his light, casing it in imaginary glass and thrusting it down.

Gwyn couldn’t make any noise at all when he came back to himself, the sensations were too sharp, and he was instead left with his unsteady breaths, huge and shocked.

When Mafydd let go of him, scratched blunt fingers down the inside of his leg, Gwyn thought he might not be able to hold himself up.

Mafydd withdrew and stared at him, and then the corner of his mouth turned up.

‘Yeah,’ Mafydd said, as though to himself. ‘You know I’m going to fuck you, don’t you?’

He reached around with a shocking familiarity between the cheeks of Gwyn’s ass, making Gwyn startlingly glad he’d showered, and Gwyn half-fell forwards when Mafydd pressed his index finger up against his entrance.

‘I’m going to put my cock in here,’ Mafydd breathed, and he sounded savage with lust. Gwyn could only nod, because if he thought about it too much, he was going to find reasons to protest, and he didn’t want to.

‘Okay,’ Gwyn said.

Mafydd laughed as though he realised exactly how nervous Gwyn was, and then removed his hand slowly, petting him on his ass like Gwyn might a dog or a horse. Gwyn flushed, embarrassed, and Mafydd only grinned at him. Getting up and stepping away, picking up a pot of something.

‘What is that?’ Gwyn said, staring at it. It looked like salve, but he didn’t recall seeing that particular pot in the stables, kennels or falcon stalls before. Mafydd opened the pot and dipped his fingers into it, kneeling beside Gwyn. He painted a smooth, cold stripe down Gwyn’s side.

‘Makes things easier,’ Mafydd said. ‘Won’t hurt you.’

Gwyn’s heart started pounding a mixture of apprehension and excitement in his chest. He knew a little about this, not just from overhearing things. He’d once visited a library with his father, to pick up more scrolls on strategy, and Gwyn had lost himself amongst the rows and rows of parchment and hand-bound books, finding himself down an aisle which was dimly lit and quietly tucked away. He’d ended up passing two hours in that aisle, looking at scrolls that depicted acts which had left him flushed and aroused, constantly looking up to make sure his father wasn’t coming.

‘But-’

‘It’s gonna feel a lot like the first time you nailed a target in bow practice,’ Mafydd said, sienna eyes gleaming at him. ‘Put your arms on the bench, and rest your head on them.’

Gwyn shifted across the dirt floor, trusting. The wooden bench was damp and cold against his forearms, and he rested the side of his head on his own skin, breath moving the little hairs on his arm. He shivered when Mafydd pushed a firm hand into the base of his spine.

‘Bend here,’ Mafydd said. ‘Go on. Show yourself to me.’

Gwyn’s cheeks and then entire face burnt hot as he slowly allowed his spine to curve inwards. He felt ridiculously exposed. It was nothing like the kissing. He felt like Mafydd had found another way to strip him bare, a way he hadn’t known about. He took a shaky breath, started to ask if they could do something else, and then he felt Mafydd place a kiss over the curve of his ass and he blew out a surprised breath.

‘That’s...Is that not indecent?’ Gwyn said, and then gulped when Mafydd’s hands rested on either side of his ass. Thumbs came out and spread his ass-cheeks and Gwyn buried his head in his arms, tensed to move away. Two of Mafydd’s fingers were slick against him.

‘No, but this is,’ Mafydd said, a grin in his voice.

Gwyn felt Mafydd bend down behind him, and then his entire body froze when he felt Mafydd blow softly over his entrance, and then a hot, wet tongue lick at him. He reared up off the bench, and Mafydd reached out and pushed him back down again, arm surprisingly strong, showing in no uncertain terms where he wanted Gwyn to rest.

‘I-’ Gwyn’s words were stolen from his throat as Mafydd pushed his tongue into him, and Gwyn thought his eyes couldn’t get any wider. He felt too warm, his legs already shaking, and Mafydd pressed his tongue into the ring of Gwyn’s entrance with an intimate familiarity that reminded him of kissing, and he made a thick, sobbing sound before he could help himself. He’d had no idea that people did things like _this._

Mafydd kept his ass cheeks spread, pulling him apart until Gwyn hissed at the stretched of it, licking at him over and over, pushing his tongue in with a relish that made Gwyn feel like he was drowning. And the sensation of it, he’d never felt anything like it. His whole body sensitised and he felt as though he’d been tuned to Mafydd’s energy, shaking in anticipation whenever Mafydd pulled back slightly, moaning when Mafydd returned.

Mafydd withdrew and pressed a kiss against his entrance, blowing against it again, and then Gwyn shouted when Mafydd bit into the curve of his ass while pushing the tip of his finger inside. Alarm swirled alongside anticipation, and Mafydd rested his cheek against him, rubbed stubble against his skin.

The fingertip waited just inside of him, and Gwyn opened his mouth against his own arm.

‘Will it hurt?’ Gwyn said, and Mafydd pushed deeper. Gwyn’s back arched at the unusualness of it; not bad, exactly, but different, intrusive. Mafydd pushed him back down again, wiggled his fingertip and chuckling when Gwyn hiccupped a breath.

‘A little,’ Mafydd said. ‘Your body has to get used to it, and I’m impatient. Never much liked the story of the tortoise and hare. But you’ll come. And it’ll feel good too. I can promise you that much.’

Gwyn groaned when Mafydd pushed in deeply, tensed at way he felt full, the way Mafydd’s fingers, limber and strong from years of pulling drawstrings on bows, felt much longer than he knew they could.

‘What does it feel like?’ Gwyn said, and Mafydd pulled his finger back and pushed it back in, repeating the movement over and over again, until Gwyn felt a strange, thick pleasure move through him.

‘Like I have a finger in your ass, watching you shake beneath me. What do you think that’d feel like? I’m happy.’

Gwyn wanted him to be happy. Mafydd who had brought him something to eat and who had kissed orange out of his mouth and was now making him feel nervous and shaky and warm and curious. And as Mafydd continued to move his finger, he realised he wanted more. He pushed back with his hips, and Mafydd hummed behind him, a confident, pleased sound.

When he pushed back in with two fingers, his index and middle, Gwyn winced. He felt the stretch of it now, a sting, and he shifted on the bench.

‘I can’t believe no one’s done this to you before,’ Mafydd said. ‘No one, and I’m the first. Alright you, hold onto that bench.’

Gwyn hardly realised what he’d been asked, and then gripped the bench automatically when Mafydd pushed his fingers in quickly, stealing the breath from Gwyn’s lungs and making him grunt at the impatience of it. He shifted his legs, uncomfortable, and then cried out when Mafydd withdrew his fingers almost all the way and then slid them back in, forcing them against Gwyn’s tightness, spreading his fingers deep against him. Gwyn opened his mouth on a long, drawn out cry and Mafydd shifted between him, leaned into his own fingers.

‘Feel it?’ Mafydd said, and then bit at him again, sucking hard at the skin underneath his ribs. He kept his fingers splayed, and then curved them backwards, a level of intimacy that brought stars to Gwyn’s eyes, made his light spark deep inside of him.

‘Mafydd,’ Gwyn said, and Mafydd kept stroking him from the inside, crooking his fingers like he was asking Gwyn to come closer.

And then Mafydd brushed against something and Gwyn felt his body light up from the inside, his voice taken from him. He would have shouted, instead he could only arch his back again.

A long inhale later, and Gwyn whined on the exhale, hardly knowing what was happening to him.

Mafydd did it again, fingers withdrawing slightly and then stroking again, and Gwyn wanted to stop holding his body up. Wanted to slump to the floor. Wanted something else, more, but didn’t know what more there could be, with Mafydd wringing responses from him that he didn’t know existed.

‘I’ve...I’ve never felt like this before,’ Gwyn managed and Mafydd groaned above him.

‘You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself,’ he said.

‘It’s... _ah,_ intense,’ Gwyn said, voice cracking as Mafydd seemed to find that bundle of nerves inside of him and pressed at it, before withdrawing his fingers and fucking them back in again, scraping over that point. It was almost pain, but not quite. Like stretching too far and realising your muscles might cramp.

‘I hadn’t guessed,’ Mafydd said, grinning, and the pace of his fingers sped up. Gwyn hung onto the bench for dear life, trying to focus on catching his breath but finding himself distracted over and over by the sensation of it. He bit into his own arm when he felt noises building up inside of him, and Mafydd’s response was to curl his fingers up and drag them backwards, brushing over that place inside of him that made his whole body jolt. His head flung up and he cried out loudly, and then felt light zinging at him underneath his skin and was gasping ‘Wait’ before he could stop himself.

Mafydd slowed down and Gwyn took the opportunity to shove his light away again, moaning brokenly as he did so.

‘That was...what is _that?’_ Gwyn managed, and Mafydd crooked his fingers once more and found the place inside of him, brushing it only lightly this time.

‘It’s a gland,’ Mafydd said, drumming his fingers against it and chuckling when Gwyn sobbed into his skin, writhing against him, not knowing if he was trying to get away, or exacerbate the feeling of it.

‘How do you _know_ this?’

Mafydd shoved his fingers back in hard, twisted them, and Gwyn’s mouth opened wider, breaths falling out of him as Mafydd struck up a much harsher rhythm that edged him back towards that precipice of pleasure and pain. Gwyn knew he wasn’t supposed to like it, he’d never really liked pain, but this was something new, something delicious, and it scattered through his body insistently.

‘Yeah, about that, we can talk about my education _later_ ,’ Mafydd said, Gwyn could hear the smile in his voice.

Mafydd kept moving his fingers until he could add a third, and at that Gwyn’s hands clenched and he shook his head, because he wanted more already, because he wanted to know. Even if they only did this once, he had to know what it was like. He didn’t know if he’d get the opportunity again. No one else had ever liked him as much as Mafydd seemed to.

‘Please,’ Gwyn rasped. ‘Will you just...? Please?’

‘Uh huh,’ Mafydd said, removing his fingers. After so long with Mafydd inside of him, it felt strange, he felt open and became aware suddenly that he was bent over a bench, in a stable, and that anyone could come, anyone could come by. He stiffened, looking over his shoulder, and swallowed when he saw Mafydd slicking himself up, one hand around himself. He looked up and smiled, and Gwyn wanted to smile back, he did, but he was nervous and he couldn’t make it go away.

Mafydd shifted forwards and Gwyn looked away when he felt his cock press up against him, rub up and down between the cleft in his ass with a friendly intimacy that was dizzying. Gwyn’s head dropped again, and Mafydd placed himself more precisely, his other hand holding onto Gwyn’s hip.

Mafydd flexed forwards just slightly, and Gwyn felt himself stretch. He gasped.

_‘Oh,’_ Gwyn said. It was different. It was...he couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d be murdered if anyone found out, he’d be-

‘Breathe,’ Mafydd said quickly. ‘Breathe, baby. Relax a bit more. No one’s coming, and I’ll stop if you tell me to stop, got it?’

‘I- Yes.’

‘Good.’

And with that, Mafydd pushed all the way in him at once, a shove that rocked him forwards on his knees and made Mafydd dig his fingertips hard into Gwyn’s hip, leaving bruises. Gwyn opened his mouth, a high, sharp sound building inside him and needing to spill, only to find a hand pressing hard at his lips. He keened against it, because Mafydd was longer than his fingers, and wider, because he’d gone from empty to split in seconds and he couldn’t move, was aware of pain and heat and sparks of light and the fullness of it.

Mafydd’s thumb rubbed over his cheek over and over again, he bent over Gwyn and kissed the arch of his back. It shifted the cock inside of him and Gwyn moaned, the sound breaking into pieces and whining out of his nose.

‘Breathe,’ Mafydd said, his voice a little harder. Gwyn tried to steady his breathing, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything except the feel of Mafydd inside of him. He felt like he’d been taken over, somehow. As though he wasn’t quite himself anymore. Cracks had appeared inside of himself, and he was bleeding through them, too large for his own body. Nothing fit.

He whimpered, over and over, and Mafydd eased his hand away from Gwyn’s mouth, rubbing instead at the top of his shoulder, grinding his hips into his ass and groaning when Gwyn shuddered beneath him.

‘It’ll ease up,’ Mafydd said. ‘I promise.’

But even though it hurt, even though there was an ache that pricked claws all the way up his spine, it was not something he wanted to stop. He shook his head at the fullness of it, wondered if this was how everyone felt.

Mafydd withdrew and pushed back in, knocking the breath out of Gwyn’s lungs again, and then set upon a rhythm that was steady and turned him into sensation. He didn’t know _anything_ could be like this. He bit down into his forearm. The pain flared and faded, flared and faded, but each time it flared as Mafydd pushed into him, there was something else behind it, a darker, viscous pleasure that curled and shifted inside of him. And every time Mafydd withdrew, Gwyn found himself wanting to know that quality of pleasure again, hungry for it.

But everything was building too quickly, the pain-pleasure of it, and Gwyn didn’t know how to contain it all. He felt almost like he had to keep one eye on his light all the time, and that meant that he couldn’t concentrate on what was going on around him. When Mafydd wrapped the fingers of his hand around his cock, Gwyn’s spine bowed into a sharp concave and that made everything sharper inside of him. He bit through the skin of his arm, tasted a rush of blood in his mouth and moaned high and long, his vision blurring, his lungs deprived of enough oxygen.

He came hard, jerking forwards helplessly even as Mafydd followed the movement of it, even as his own thrusts became erratic. Gwyn’s sight went grey at the edges even though his eyes were closed, and he lifted his head up, gulping down breath after breath, feeling unconsciousness nearby, beckoning. The pleasure trembling through him was a peak of sensation, made his blood feel like it was boiling.

It lasted for some time, even once he’d stopped spending his release, his body was still shivering through aftershocks, his hips still stuttered forwards. And Mafydd was moving faster now, hips slamming into him, and Gwyn became more aware of soreness, but was more relaxed as well, so the pain was less acute. It was almost its own kind of pleasure, and Gwyn groaned softly, going boneless upon the bench, resting his cheek on his forearm and looking at the blackness behind his eyelids.

He loved Mafydd.

Gwyn’s eyes flew open in shock at what he’d realised, just as Mafydd pressed deep inside of him and spilled his own release. It was warm, and Gwyn was surprised that he could sense it. His voice broke on a sound, and Mafydd made soothing sounds back at him that pressed warmth into his skin.

A minute later, Mafydd withdrew and Gwyn winced, because that stung. Fingers pressed up against his entrance and he looked over his shoulder again.

‘Just checking everything’s alright,’ Mafydd said, and then his eyes widened at Gwyn’s face. ‘You got a little something on your cheek there, hey.’

Gwyn raised fingers to his cheek and felt wetness, drew it away and saw blood. He realised he’d been resting in the wound he’d bitten into himself.

‘Oh, I...’

When Mafydd saw the bite mark on his forearm he raised his sticky hand up and rubbed Gwyn’s lower back instead. Gwyn stared at Mafydd, frightened of his own feelings, because he’d never felt anything like this before. Not really. It was like what he felt for Greyness, or the hounds, but _more_ and _different._ It was...he wanted to be close to him, and spend more time with him, and please him.

He averted his eyes, shyly, as Mafydd got up and picked one of the clean rags off the tack bench. He came back and rubbed roughly at Gwyn’s cheek, then his forearm. He ‘tch’ed’ when he saw it, but Gwyn thought he sounded pleased, too.

And then Mafydd was encouraging him to kneel upright and pressed the rough rag between his legs, overly familiar, and Gwyn made an undignified sound.

‘What-?’

‘Just making it a bit easier for you to get back to your own shower, alright?’

The cloth rubbed at him, made him aware that he was sore, and he leaned his head tiredly against Mafydd’s shoulder, his whole lower body feeling far more sensitive than usual. Mafydd pressed a kiss into the side of his head.

‘I liked it,’ Gwyn admitted, blushing.

Mafydd made a pleased sound and kissed him again, withdrawing the cloth and balling it up. He didn’t return it to the table. Instead he cleaned himself off as well, and then stood up, pulling his clothing on. Gwyn watched him for a minute, and then pushed himself upright, unsteady. He felt weak, and he wasn’t sure why. It hadn’t lasted that long and it was different but...

‘I wish you were at our estate,’ Mafydd said, looking up at Gwyn suddenly. ‘My father doesn’t mind who I bed, so long as I’m discreet about it. And you and I could have so much fun.’

‘But...we can have fun here, can’t we? Still? You’re staying longer?’

Mafydd smiled at Gwyn and stepped forwards as Gwyn smoothed out his shirt with shaking hands. He kissed him again, sucking his lower lip into his mouth, scraping teeth over it.

‘A few days,’ Mafydd said. ‘But something tells me you could learn a lot more than what we can steal in a few days, yeah? Ah well. It is what it is! I will take what I can get. You did so great, _so_ great. Is your arm okay? I have to admit, I’m a little happy it felt so good.’

‘Intense,’ Gwyn said, and Mafydd’s eyes gleamed at him.

‘Yeah, even better.’

With that, he pulled Gwyn in and instead of kissing him, raised his forearm and licked at a small amount of blood oozing from the bite mark Gwyn had made. Gwyn hissed at the sting of pain, and then was distracted when Mafydd leaned up and kissed the taste of it into his mouth, grinning against his lips.

‘Go on then, Princess. Back to the castle with you.’

Gwyn blushed so red he could feel it in his ears, and he turned to leave, aware that they couldn’t steal any more time than they already had. He was halfway through the stalls of the horses, when he heard thudding footsteps and two of the horses made sounds of surprise. Mafydd grabbed him again, tugging him around, and pressed his lips to Gwyn’s with so much force that the inside of his lip was cut.

‘Thank you,’ Mafydd said against his mouth.

‘For what?’ Gwyn was dazed, he was the one who should be thanking Mafydd.

‘Letting me be your first. I’ll come find you later if the coast is clear, alright?’

Mafydd reached out and rubbed one of the curious mares on the nose, and then winked at Gwyn and walked out ahead of him, his hands deep in his pockets and definitely looking like he’d been up to something suspicious.

Gwyn ran his fingers through his hair, a surprising amount of tangles in it given he hadn’t rested his head on the floor. He straightened his clothing, and then when he was close enough, he jogged all way back to the estate and straight up to his rooms to shower and hope that no one would know. No one could know. The servants might keep it a secret, maybe, but some of them might get paid to betray his secrets, that had happened before.

He just had to get back to his studies, and focus, and everything would be fine.

Except that it was uncomfortable to sit, and he ended up lying on his bed in the small amount of free time that he had, thinking about Mafydd, and how full his heart felt just to imagine him. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know he could feel like this. He couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing, only that sometimes he felt like his heart hurt too much to fit in his chest, and other times it felt too full and light and full of warmth.

He cupped his hands over his heart and closed his eyes.

*

Much later that night, after a formal and hardly nourishing dinner with Crielle, Efnisien and Mafydd – _that_ had been fun, the sniping had been non-stop and Mafydd didn’t have much grounds to protest at what they were saying to Gwyn, since it was all couched in graceful, polite language – Gwyn ducked down to the kitchens and stole some stale rolls from the bread basket, tearing off the tough crust and chewing at it, glad of something filling. He cut off a wedge of cheese as he went, left a small note explaining who had taken it – otherwise the servants could get blamed – and he made his way back up to his room.

In the distance he heard the steady clip-clop of hooves from multiple horses and knew that his and Mafydd’s father were back. There were some shouts of excitement from the servants, which meant they’d likely landed a boar or a stag, something significant and replete with meat. Lludd could afford deer, boars, cattle from the market, but theirs was a hunting family, and most of the meat they ate they hunted for themselves as a way to keep their skills up. Some of the older ways died hard, in the An-Fnwy estate.

Gwyn bolted down the rest of one of the rolls, and checked himself in the mirror. His lips had healed, but the bite-mark he’d given himself was still healing. It was hidden well by his long-sleeved shirt. He decided it would be more conspicuous if he didn’t come down and greet them, so he took the stairs two at a time down to the back of the estate, servants and keep moving back for him so that he might make his way easily to them. When he saw Mafydd in the corner of his eye on the front steps, he ignored him too, and walked straight up to the giant boar that they’d landed, a single thick bolt protruding from his eye. His father didn’t use the crossbow, and Gwyn felt a faint shiver of dread when he realised that Mafydd’s father landed the boar. Lludd wouldn’t have appreciated that. He didn’t like being slighted on his own land.

‘Gwyn!’ his father barked. ‘Here.’

Gwyn straightened and walked over to his father, offering a nod of acknowledgement to Mafydd’s father. His heart was still beating far faster than normal. The horses were tired, and he brushed the neck of one as he passed. He could feel its fatigue. They’d ridden hard for decent quarry. Lludd most likely wanting to show off the powerful beasts that lived all around the estate.

‘That is some boar, father. Did it give you any trouble?’

‘A hound, that is all.’

Gwyn’s face fell. One of the hounds didn’t make it. He looked around at those nearby, tired also, but still lazily wagging their tails, the excitement of the hunt so high they’d not registered they’d lost one of their own. He saw immediately that it was Backer, one of the best of the hunting hounds. Backer had been his father’s dog, and would have worked so hard for him. Gwyn grimaced.

‘Was his death honourable?’ Gwyn asked. Expressing sympathy in any other way was not allowed.

Lludd looked down at him, gave him a cold, furious stare. Gwyn couldn’t tell if he’d done something wrong, or if his father was just displeased at losing a valuable hound and not landing the quarry himself, with someone he didn’t care much for.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m glad you’re well, father,’ Gwyn said, wishing that he couldn’t hear the meekness in his own tone then.

‘Am I?’ Lludd said. ‘Go to your room, Gwyn. You’re dismissed.’

‘Yes, father. Of course.’

Gwyn walked away briskly, trotted back up the steps and ignored Mafydd once more, who was hanging back. He could tell in his peripheral vision that Mafydd had tried to catch his eye, and wished he hadn’t, because Lludd didn’t miss a thing.

Before heading straight to his room, he lingered in one of the sitting rooms downstairs, watching as the boar was taken off to be hung and prepared properly, as the hounds were shepherded back to the kennels and the horses were led off back to the stables. Mafydd, Mafydd’s father and Lludd stood around talking for some time, and Gwyn could see the dra’ocht he used while talking to them, the waves of energy that were hard to perceive up close, but easier to spot from a distance. Lludd wasn’t naturally charming, and Gwyn suspected he got his own need to consciously force his glamour from his father’s side of the family.

Mafydd came back inside a short time later, and Gwyn held his breath as Mafydd passed the darkened sitting room, because it would not be a good idea to be spotted now. He watched Mafydd go, watched him raise a hand to his forehead and rub at it as though he had a headache. What had they been talking about? Gwyn resisted the urge to follow him, to ask if he was okay.

He waited another hour, until everything was truly starting to settle down, and he escaped back to his room before his father could return to the house from the stables.

*

Gwyn’s body stiffened at the sound of the footsteps marching towards his room before he’d even registered that he’d heard them. He was standing up hurriedly, even before his father opened his bedroom door and closed it behind him with a sharp, awful _click._

He looked absolutely livid, from the muscle jumping on the left-hand side of his jaw, to the ruddiness of rage in his cheeks. Gwyn knew then, Lludd had found out somehow. He backed up quickly, stopping just before he hit the wall.

‘I thought I told you to avoid him,’ Lludd said.

‘I have been, father.’

‘ _Don’t_ lie to me! I am a _tracker!_ Do you think I cannot spot your footsteps in the stables? Your knee-prints in the _dirt,_ in the tack-room? If I had known you found the lifestyle of whoring preferable to that of the merits of being a soldier, I could have organised _that_ base training for you instead. Would you prefer it? Hm? You’ve known that boy less than three whole days!’

Gwyn’s mouth was dry, he couldn’t even move his tongue to lick at his lips.

‘Of course you are so low that you would take it up the ass like some commoner. So, do you want me to change your tutors? Shall I bring in the ones that will make you at least earn _money_ for it?’

‘Father, no- I, his reading is dormant, he’s kind and he’s from a good family, I thought-’

He knew better than to duck out of the way of the gut punch, knowing that his father made things worse whenever he avoided punishment. Gwyn dropped to the ground, pain blazing. His father had always been economical with his violence. The jab to the side of his head sent him sprawling.

‘You do not _deserve_ kindness, nor anyone from a _good_ family. If I have my way, you will not be matched with _anyone_ at all, lest they see what sort of monstrosity you are. That he is a Reader, that his Reading is dormant, none of that matters so much as you flagrantly disobeying me! No, you stay _down.’_

The heel of Lludd’s right boot ground down in between his shoulder blades, and Gwyn scrabbled at the floor to brace himself. Gwyn knew he’d be lucky to escape with his consciousness.

‘Father, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you know how stupid I am. I don’t have any excuses, I did the wrong thing, I did...’

He didn’t know how he could be wrong if it made him feel so good, but maybe that was why it was wrong. Maybe that was the point. Gwyn lowered his forehead to the floor. He was always so _slow_ to realise these things.

‘Papa, I’m sorry.’

‘Your apologies are _meaningless,’_ Lludd spat. ‘But perhaps you should enjoy it while it lasts, hm?’

Gwyn’s brow furrowed in confusion. When Lludd leaned over him, the sharp heel cut through his clothing and pushed a bruise into his spine. He gasped at the pain of it. A hand twisted sharply in his hair, pulling strands loose.

‘These tutors of yours who like you, do not know what you’re truly like. And this boy who finds something worthwhile in you, clearly doesn’t understand what you are. Is that it, Gwyn? Do you want something you don’t deserve, because you’ve never had it before? Is that how ungrateful you are, after we’ve housed you and fed you and educated you? And of course you would enjoy being ploughed like some green farm boy, of _course._ Are you so determined to fail in _everything?’_

Gwyn stayed silent, and squeezed his eyes shut in relief when he realised that was what Lludd wanted. Sometimes he was supposed to stay silent. Sometimes he was supposed to agree.

Lludd let go of him all at once, stepped away. Gwyn started to push himself upright and was punched back down into the ground again, curling around the pain in his other kidney.

‘Do not keep seeing him, or there will be consequences.’

And with that, Lludd walked briskly away, opening and closing the door behind him. His room was still.

Gwyn groaned in pain, forcing himself to uncurl a little. He would heal, he always healed, but in the moment the pain disarmed him. He sobbed once, then forced himself to stop by grinding his teeth together, digging his nails into his palms. He knew there was no point, because once he really started, he found it so hard to stop, and that infuriated Lludd as well. And there was still a small chance Lludd might come back.

He pushed himself up to his knees and then decided against it, letting himself fall back down to the ground again, pressing hands to his abdomen.

He was torn between trying to tell himself it had to end, it had to be over with Mafydd, and listening to the other voice that was bewildered, that didn’t understand why it was so wrong to feel what he was feeling. If Mafydd’s Reading stayed dormant, then why wasn’t it okay?

_Because you don’t deserve it, remember?_

Gwyn threw his forearm over his eyes as he rolled onto his back, and froze.

Mafydd was standing in the doorway, his _bathroom_ door, looking like he’d been struck. He couldn’t have just entered the room, Gwyn would have noticed. Which meant that...which meant that he’d been there the entire ti-

_‘No,’_ Gwyn said, staring at him. ‘No, you weren’t supposed to see that. You weren’t supposed to, how, how did-’

‘Hush,’ Mafydd whispered, staring fearfully at the door while rushing to Gwyn’s side. ‘Hush now, quiet.’

He knelt by him and placed his hands gingerly, one on Gwyn’s head, the other on his shoulder.

‘You weren’t supposed to see that, Mafydd, I’m sorry, you shouldn’t be here. You-’

_‘Hush,’_ Mafydd said, his voice breaking. Gwyn could see his chest heaving for air, though he couldn’t hear him breathing.

‘Why are you here?’

‘I wanted to surprise you,’ Mafydd said absently. ‘Ha. Joke’s on me.’

Mafydd subsided into silence, and  when Gwyn tried to speak again, confused and pained and horrified, Mafydd pressed his fingers to Gwyn’s lips. It was only after several minutes of silence, Mafydd still staring at the door, that he looked back down at Gwyn and removed his fingers.

‘You shouldn’t be here, Mafydd. Sometimes he comes back.’

‘You’re _fucking_ kidding me,’ Mafydd spat, rage crossing his features. And then the expression vanished and he was suddenly clutching his own chest, face twisting in pain. ‘Ah, no, _stop it.’_

Gwyn pushed himself upright, ignoring the flares of pain that made his body work clumsily.

‘What’s wrong?’  Gwyn whispered. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s my _Reading,’_ Mafydd groaned, and then shook his head stubbornly over and over, as though he could force it from his body. Gwyn backed away, leaned against his own bed, wanting to help, not knowing how to help.

Mafydd’s expression cleared slowly, he lowered shaking hands from his chest, he stared at Gwyn and then looked back towards the door .

‘The lecture of a lifetime, huh?’ Mafydd said, almost to himself. ‘And you go and say ‘or something like that.’ This is the something, yeah? Right. Right, well. Oh, look at you. Come here.’

But it was Mafydd who came over to Gwyn, drawing him into his strong arms and staring at the door like Lludd would come through it at any moment. Gwyn would know if he was, he’d hear him, the footsteps. But there were no footsteps outside of his room. Gwyn lay stiff in Mafydd’s arms. He didn’t want to be comforted. He shouldn’t be with him at all. It didn’t matter how he felt, it didn’t matter how much he liked him, this was a recipe for disaster.

‘I’m sorry, Mafydd, he’s right, I shouldn’t be doing this.’

Gwyn started to push away but Mafydd tightened his grip.

‘This isn’t right,’ Mafydd said quietly. ‘And if my Reading is anything to go by, it hasn’t been right for a _long_ time. I’ll...I’ll leave, I’ll stay away. But Gwyn, something’s not right.’

_It’s me,_ Gwyn’s mind whispered, traitorous.

‘Don’t stay away,’ Gwyn said, almost without thinking. Mafydd stared down at him, expression unreadable.

‘At least a day, Gwyn. For your own safety. But...maybe...’

‘Don’t stay away,’ Gwyn said again, closing his eyes. If he was already so monstrous, already so irredeemable, then what was one more monstrous thing in his life? What was this short-term dalliance with Mafydd? Gwyn knew that it would not last much longer, and then his life would go back to what it had always been. ‘Don’t stay away.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Mafydd said, ruffling his hair. ‘I got it. Against my better judgement – not that I have much of it – I got it.’


	4. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright; this is it - an unfinished chapter for an unfinished series of chapters, because I simply found the ending too confronting to write. Please see the notes at the end for a summary of how this was *supposed* to end. 
> 
> And I am sure I'll see you all in _Game Theory_. 
> 
> Thank you so much to those who read this and reviewed it, and an extra-special thank to those of you who expressed an interest in knowing more about Mafydd, long before I had intended on putting this online. *hugs*

Mafydd had wanted to stay by Gwyn’s side that evening for far longer, but as soon as Gwyn could get his feet under himself, he insisted that Mafydd leave. His mind was spinning, he had a terrible headache. Mafydd had seen and heard all of it, his Reading had kicked in again, it was awful. Eventually – after some pushing – Mafydd had left. Gwyn refused to be drawn out on the topic of his father’s violence, and Mafydd refused to agree with Gwyn, when Gwyn insisted that it was fine.

It was the closest they’d ever gotten to an argument, and even though Gwyn could tell Mafydd was concerned – even if that concern was misplaced and misguided – it left him bad-tempered and frustrated.

Worse, he should have known better. It would have been easy enough to cloak the signs that Mafydd and Gwyn had been in the stables together, Gwyn was also training to be a tracker like his father, and he could have done enough to make sure Lludd didn’t suspect. Instead he’d let himself be happily dazed, had forgotten about the signs they’d left – the footprints, the _kneeprints_ – and he’d paid the price of Lludd discovering them both.

He feared, momentarily, there would be consequences for Mafydd too. But then he doubted it. Lludd didn’t punish guests. The general understanding was that if a guest did anything wrong, it was because they didn’t understand how things were done at the Estate, or because Gwyn had somehow led them astray.

Gwyn wondered if some of the pain in his gut came not from Lludd’s punches, but from the aching knowledge that he might lose another chance to be with Mafydd again.

He half-expected Mafydd and his family to be sent away the next morning, but he heard from the servants they were still about. Gwyn stayed firmly out of their way, nothing less would be expected of him, and his father would make up some excuse for him as he had done in the past. Extra training, late-night tutoring, a combination of innocuous acts to make it seem like Gwyn hadn’t made such grave mistakes, but was just too busy to be seen.

He was grateful for that, at least. It saved him public humiliation.

Going through his classes with his tutors with pain roiling through him was nothing new, though still unpleasant. And if any of his tutors noticed that he was slower than usual when he got into and out of chairs, or when he went through drills, they said nothing. Many weren’t remotely sympathetic. Those who had been sympathetic in the past, who asked too many questions, were sent away. They were there to teach and tutor and train Gwyn, not coddle him like he was some infant. Gwyn’s father had told him that before, when some of his favourite tutors had been sent away.

Sometimes it made it easier, anyway. Mafydd acting like what Lludd had done was wrong was far more painful than having to navigate a few days with a milder, physical pain.

Yet he craved Mafydd’s company, he felt like every part of his awareness leaned in his direction, reached for him. He imagined filaments of his thoughts tangled and snarled together in their rush to find him on the Estate. He wanted to touch his skin again. Wanted to feel the boneless sensation of being taken by him, the pleasure of it. He wanted his voice and his eyes and his hands that already showed the spurs from frequent archery.

If he were a better son, perhaps he would find it easier to listen to Lludd, easier to turn away from him. But he was not, and he _wanted._

*

The next day, Gwyn only had two lessons in the morning, both physically taxing. Training with the longbow first, and then the long sword. His arms always shook by the end, no matter how much stronger he became, no matter how he practiced on his own. The dual lessons were designed to show him something of constant exhaustion. After, his bicep was twitching in his right arm, and he rubbed at it absently.

When he made his way back to his rooms to shower, he saw an unmistakeable carriage at the Estate.

_Efnisien._

Which meant that Efnisien’s parents were visiting and his cousin would have the run of the house as usual and Mafydd...Mafydd wouldn’t have the first idea how to protect himself from him. Efnisien whose core energy was cruelty.

Gwyn’s blood ran cold. His steps picked up as he walked into the house, and he grit his teeth as he forced himself up to shower first. He would be roasted alive if he wasn’t presentable. He scrubbed himself quickly, dressed in such a hurry his shirt was back to front and he was still settling it the right way when he ran downstairs. He slowed his quiet run to a brisk walk, then peered into the room where Mafydd’s parents and his parents were entertaining Efnisien’s parents. There was no sign of Efnisien or Mafydd anywhere.

Crielle’s eyes snapped to Gwyn’s, and she smiled at him invitingly. It was a lie. She never wanted him in the same room she was in unless she could hurt him.

‘What is it you want, son?’

She only ever called him that before the presence of guests.

‘I beg your pardon for the intrusion. Have you seen Efnisien anywhere? I wished to show him something that I learned earlier.’

Even Efnisien’s parents knew that was a lie. After all, Gwyn avoided his cousin’s company wherever possible. Any time they spent alone together, was time when Gwyn was invariably tormented or outright tortured by his cousin. The first time Efnisien had spent the day playing with Gwyn, Gwyn had needed his full Court healing ability to recover, and it had been four weeks before he was hale again.

His heart was pounding so painfully he could feel it pulsing behind his eyes.

‘Efnisien is out playing with Mafydd,’ Crielle said, grinning toothily. ‘Boys will be boys, won’t they?’

‘Thank you, mother,’ Gwyn said. He bowed deeply, respectfully, and then backed away until he was out of eyeshot. As soon as he was sure they wouldn’t hear him, he bolted barefoot from the Estate, the servant’s doors flying open with a bang behind him, feet pounding over gravel and then grass as he tacked towards the target fields where Efnisien liked to take Gwyn. Where Efnisien would find it easy to lure Mafydd. After all, Mafydd liked the longbow.

Gwyn’s cold sweat quickly became a proper sweat, turning his skin frigid where the air touched it. He’d already exerted himself to exhaustion, and his muscles and legs protested as he pushed himself across the fields.

He jumped over a wooden fence leading to an apple orchard, needed a shortcut. The longbow target fields were furthest away. Stray arrows could do a lot of damage, best they weren’t shot anywhere near other people. They were far enough away that his family couldn’t hear him scream when Efnisien had him.

And Efnisien wasn’t like Lludd and Crielle, he had no sense of ‘family only.’ He shared his cruelty with everyone he wished to. And his parents pardoned him, _everyone_ pardoned him. You learned quickly with Efnisien. You stayed away from him, you didn’t provoke him, and you made sure you were never _ever_ left alone with him. He’d been responsible for the death of at least four servants that Gwyn knew of, and that didn’t include the ones that no one had been given a chance to gossip about, the servants that just ‘disappeared’ from service, no body to be found.

Gwyn made a sound in the back of his throat, ran faster. Efnisien wouldn’t kill Mafydd, he was almost certain, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt him, and badly.

And Gwyn’s father had no respect for Mafydd’s father. Didn’t even want him there.

Gwyn tripped over a rabbit warren, strained his ankle, forced himself upright and onwards through the pain of it. Long grass whipped past him, and his ears strained for noise. He was in sight of the target fields now.

_There._

Gwyn swerved towards the low, dull cry of pain. His heart hammered. Blood rushed through his veins. He imagined Mafydd bloody, stabbed, tortured.

And there _,_ the form of Efnisien crouched over something – _someone –_ a delighted look on his face. Efnisien had Mafydd with an arm twisted up hard behind his back, the glint of a knife that cut into his upper arm. Mafydd cried out again. Efnisien was so caught up in what he was doing he hadn’t even noticed.

Or he had noticed and didn’t care.

Rage twisted through Gwyn, exploded in sparks up and down his spine. His light prickled up so close to the surface of his skin that he felt it tearing and shredding along his arms, down his backs of his legs, even along his scalp.

Efnisien looked up, smiled the same charming smile that his mother was capable. All blonde hair, blue-eyed beauty, looking impossibly stunning in the high afternoon light.

_‘Get OFF him!’_ Gwyn roared.

He knocked Efnisien sideways so roughly that Mafydd was hurt in the process, the arm twisted up behind his back not being released in time. But Gwyn had thrown his full weight against Efnisien and eventually Efnisien had to let go.

Gwyn smashed his fist into Efnisien’s neck, and Efnisien choked on it, strange, gargling laughter spraying from his mouth as he kneed Gwyn in the gut and they ended up grappling with each other.

Gwyn had gotten the upper hand again, when Efnisien finally caught his breath.

‘He was much more fun than you. He actually makes _noise.’_

Efnisien’s head came up to headbutt him, but Gwyn reared out of the way, only to get another knee to the flared black bruise in his gut where Lludd had punched him. He choked on the pain of it, slammed his mouth shut to stop himself from crying out, but he fell weakly, splayed forwards into the grass when an elbow fell between his shoulder blades.

‘You, stay _down,’_ Efnisien said. ‘Good dog.’

But Gwyn was already forcing himself to turn. He had to help Mafydd. It was one thing to be tormented by Efnisien knowing his own parents didn’t care; it was another for Mafydd – who had done so much for Gwyn already – to be targeted by him.

Gwyn pushed himself upright, kicking at Efnisien’s shin. And Mafydd was silent as he followed that up with a kick to his gut, forcing Efnisien down to the ground. Gwyn looked at Mafydd quickly, saw a combination of fear and outrage in his eyes.

He splayed his legs in a fighting stance, and Mafydd did the same, fists up. He looked like he’d been taught to brawl.

Efnisien pushed himself away and then upright, laughing.

‘Two against one, not really a fair fight, is it?’

‘Oh sure,’ Mafydd said. ‘Because you care about _fair fights.’_

‘Well,’ Efnisien drawled, ‘I do when it involves _me_ being on the rotten end of it.’

Efnisien stared at both of them, an amused gleam in his azure eyes, and then he ran a hand through his hair, making it fall neatly around his jaw-line once more. He blinked in the direction of the Estate, shrugged and then made his way to it. He only turned back to look at them once, and laughed when he saw they were still in a fighting stance.

‘At ease, gentlemen,’ he called behind him.

Gwyn relaxed slightly, lowered his fists. He didn’t think Efnisien would return while the stakes were against him. He was a lazy sadist, and if he couldn’t get his way easily, he often didn’t bother. When Gwyn ran away from him into the forest, Efnisien almost never followed, knowing that Gwyn was better at hiding than Efnisien was at finding. Mafydd kept his arms up, was shaking, even once Efnisien was out of sight.

‘He won’t come back,’ Gwyn  said. ‘It’s two against one. He won’t like those odds.’

Mafydd stared at him, lowered his own arms and looked at his bleeding arm. Gwyn reached out for it immediately, concerned, and Mafydd jerked it away, staring at him with something like betrayal on his features.

_What did I do?_

‘Mafydd?’

‘What...what are you dealing with here? Day to day?’

Gwyn swallowed, didn’t answer for a long moment. He reached out for Mafydd’s arm and stepped over, placing his hand over the knife wound. He wasn’t a healer, but Mafydd was Outer Court status, and he would heal fast anyway. But he wanted to offer something, so he offered the warmth of his palm, a gentle touch.

‘Family matters, Mafydd. It’s nothing.’

Mafydd stared at him so long that Gwyn shifted nervously under the gaze. He looked in the direction Efnisien had left, and then removed his palm to look at the wound, at the blood that had trickled down to meet his own fingers.

‘Did he hurt you anywhere else?’

‘A few bruises but that’s it, that’s _enough,_ seriously. Yeah, I can’t believe this. And the things he fucking said, that ass, talking about torture and cutting out parts of me and...’

Mafydd’s voice was shaking.

Gwyn closed his eyes to think of it. It was what he feared most, and Efnisien had threatened it. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone ahead with it, Efnisien was slowly starting to learn that it was less appropriate to torture high status fae, or perhaps he was simply learning more restraint, but he had _threatened_ it.

Gwyn’s heart twisted.

‘No, I wouldn’t have let that happen,’ Gwyn said. ‘I love you too much for th-’

Gwyn slapped a hand over his lips, stared at Mafydd in horror.

Mafydd seemed to forget about his injured arm, as something of a frail smile spread over his face.

‘What’s this now?’

‘I wouldn’t have let that happen?’ Gwyn hedged, feeling his face flush with embarrassed heat.

Mafydd laughed.

‘The other bit?’

‘There was another bit?’ Gwyn said, a weak attempt at being evasive. ‘I don’t remember saying anything else.’

‘Here I am, half tortured by your cousin, and you’re still gorgeous. Baby, but no,’ Mafydd said. ‘It’s just puppy love, not that I blame you, since it looks like you’re growing up in some Unseelie monstrosity of a family.’

Gwyn’s gut clenched. It had started at the ‘Baby, but no,’ and kept on going right up until the end of what Mafydd had said. He dropped his hand to his side and frowned.

‘Puppy love? You mean...infatuation?’

‘Yeah, I- Wow, you really don’t see anything weird about what happened just now, do you? Alright, yeah, let’s talk about this. I mean infatuation. We hardly know each other, and you’re not in love with me, baby, you’re just young and experiencing a ton of new things.’

‘I think I know what I feel,’ Gwyn said, stiffly.

‘ _How_ would you know? Baby, can you tell the difference? Real love hits you like a bolt of lightning. This...’ Mafydd waved the hand of his non-injured arm between the two of them. ‘This is fun, and great, and you’re the loveliest thing to come out of that family and I called them crocodiles didn’t I? I’m starting to think that’s an insult to crocodiles. And what did your cousin mean that you don’t make _noise?’_

‘He responds to noise,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head in irritation. He didn’t want to talk about Efnisien. He wanted to talk about how easily Mafydd had dismissed his feelings, but then...what if Mafydd was right? What if Gwyn didn’t know? He couldn’t recall having felt infatuation before either. What if infatuation was his chest twisting up, and a discordance of pulse points inside of him, and real love was even _worse?_

He didn’t think he’d be able to handle it.

‘Stay away from him,’ Gwyn said. ‘Don’t ever let yourself be alone with him. He can’t be trusted.’

‘Yeah...couldn’t have gathered that myself, thanks.’

Gwyn’s brow furrowed. He felt like Mafydd was angry with him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He wished he’d arrived sooner. Perhaps he should have said something from the beginning. He’d taken his own wariness of Efnisien for granted, maybe he should have warned him on the first day, instead of thinking about himself.

He was too selfish, he thought about himself far too often.

Gwyn was sinking to his knees in the tall grass before he was aware of it. He reached out to the fastenings of Mafydd’s pants and didn’t hesitate, wanting something that would distract them both, hoping that Mafydd would just-

‘Wait, wait, baby, wait a minute,’ Mafydd said, sounding an entirely different type of shaky now. His voice has gone deeper. ‘Shit, _Gwyn,_ wait.’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, and even though Mafydd was telling him to stop, he wasn’t stepping backwards, he wasn’t doing anything more than twisting slightly to look over his shoulder towards the Estate. ‘I’m hidden, like this. No one can see.’

A hand threaded through his hair and then drew him upright, and Gwyn went reluctantly, refusing to meet Mafydd’s eyes. He felt shamed, like he’d been caught doing something wrong, _again._

‘Baby the grass is tall but it isn’t that tall. And your hair colour is pretty noticeable, yeah? I think your hair would look pretty visible from a distance, bobbing back and forth on my cock, wouldn’t it? But fuck, you’re so eager. Fuck. Is there somewhere we can go?’

Gwyn swallowed, his heart beat faster in his excitement and he dared to risk Mafydd’s eyes. And Mafydd was watching him hungrily, other expressions merging on his face, though Gwyn couldn’t be certain what they were.

But as Gwyn tried to think of some place they could go, he realised with a sinking heart that they couldn’t do anything at all. His father would notice Efnisien returning and Mafydd and Gwyn staying out together. They had to return.

‘No,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head. ‘No there’s...nowhere.’

He started manipulating the grass beneath his bare feet, where he’d accidentally bent the stalks into a position that his father might realise was him having been on his knees again. He sighed as he did it.

‘Follow me back to the Estate. I’m pretty sure Efnisien won’t come back, but it’s best that you not be on your own outside the Estate walls. After, just...spend some time with your family. Don’t leave them. And lock your door. Your door has a lock on it, doesn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ Mafydd said.

He sounded unhappy, and Gwyn looked up once he’d finished masking the worst of where he’d knelt. Mafydd looked pensive, his own eyebrows pulled together.

Gwyn wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he thought that was quite obvious, given what had happened, given Mafydd’s arm.

‘I can take you in through the back, there’s a trough where you can wash your arm, if you wish.’

‘I should go on my own, since we’re not meant to be seen together.’

Gwyn nodded, and then Mafydd set off in the direction of the estate. Gwyn couldn’t even ghost him properly to make sure he was okay, because outside of the tall grass, the land was flat, and Mafydd was visible. Instead, Gwyn stayed in the tall grass himself, ears listening out for any more cries of pain from Mafydd, and catching instead the quiet calls of birds.

He made his way back to the estate and didn’t see Mafydd again, that day or the next. Efnisien and his family left, Gwyn was too occupied by lessons and memorising scrolls to pay much mind, and he found that throwing himself into work and education didn’t stop the pain in his heart, but made it more bearable.

Mafydd had been angry at him, and Gwyn wasn’t even the one who had hurt him like that! It didn’t make any sense, except that – as his father was constantly telling him – he was just put together wrong. Maybe that was what would happen with anyone he met, maybe he would just never know what it was that turned others against him.

After all, Efnisien’s parents still liked Efnisien, and he was a torturer.

Gwyn felt like he was carrying something broken around in his chest, and he hated it. He worked harder than he could remember working for months, and slept curled up on the corner of his bed, not even allowing himself the comfort of pillows and blankets.

Something in him was wrong, and he sometimes wondered if he could chase it out of himself if he was just mean enough to whatever it was.

*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY OF WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN: 
> 
> After having sex again in the stables once more, on the straw, while Lludd left on unexpected business, Mafydd finds Gwyn's anguish too much to bear and starts begging to know his secret. And Gwyn - of course - refuses for some time, trying to clumsily comfort Mafydd, and terrified of breaking the blood oath. 
> 
> But when he accidentally reveals that he swore a blood oath to Mafydd, Mafydd starts to laugh in relief and tells him that this is impossible, blood oaths are illegal before a fae comes of age at 225, and he certainly hasn't made one in his childhood. Not a _real_ one. Gwyn is uncertain, but of course he trusts Mafydd, and Mafydd is telling him that his father lied to him to preserve a lie. So Gwyn, desperate to tell someone for the first time in his life, reveals to Mafydd that he is Unseelie.
> 
> Immediately, the blood oath is broken, and Lludd and Gwyn both feel it. For Gwyn it is an agony of pain, and he passes out for some time. When Gwyn awakens, he is both exhausted, hysterical, and Mafydd is rocking him, telling him that they will get him out of there, and go to the Unseelie Court and ask for asylum (Gwyn, generally against anything Unseelie, is not receptive to this plan). 
> 
> Lludd arrives, aware the blood-oath is broken, and drags Mafydd away, knocking Gwyn unconscious again. When Gwyn awakens, he goes looking for him, certain Mafydd has already been killed. He finds his father on his own and Lludd lays into him, furious and telling Gwyn that if he lacks the mettle to keep a blood oath, then he can certainly do what's necessary. He drags Gwyn into the indoor target room, where Mafydd is strapped to a target, and clearly distressed. Lludd hands Gwyn his recurve bow, and his quiver of arrows, and this is when the pitting of their wills against each other begins.
> 
> But Lludd's centre is ruthlessness, and Gwyn's loyalty - specifically to his father. And though Gwyn puts his all into trying to resist the will of his father, and even attempts to free Mafydd a couple of times, and then simply threatens to run away, he is left begging his father to kill him instead, 'like you have always wanted to.' Even this is not enough, and eventually, numb and shattered, Gwyn pulls a single arrow on Mafydd and shoots him through the heart. The internal strain of this, as well as the pain of the broken blood oath and his injuries inflicted by LLudd are so much that Gwyn collapses.
> 
> When he wakes up, he is certain it is a dream; a nightmare. Dazed, he looks up, and realises that Mafydd is still dead. He is alone. A note has been left by Lludd: 
> 
> 'Clean up your mess.'
> 
> And after long, broken hours of gathering Mafydd to him and crying, that's exactly what he does. 
> 
> Mafydd's death is explained as a hunting excursion gone wrong amongst two teenagers who didn't know better, and while Mafydd's father always suspected something wasn't entirely right, there wasn't much he could do about it. Gwyn never recovered, and spurned all advances (not that there were many) afterwards, he developed an outwardly cold and heartless demeanour, and he tried to leave and get out into campaigns as much as possible (for a while there, he wanted himself dead as much as his father did - going to battle 'too early' seemed like the perfect answer). If he had any doubt about his true nature or how awful he was before then, he lost it all afterwards, and became despairing of his own true self.
> 
> And now you can probably see why I wasn't able to write all of that out in detail. *hugs everyone who wants hugs*


End file.
